I was glued to the crust of the sky,
With a star scrape off my frozen body,
And sell this film thin-thin,
At least you'll have some money for your bread.
The rest will be scattered through the air,
And a girl with a boring name Ksenia
Will hang on the wall someone's rough -
All carpets, from Moscow to Warsaw.
Here the carpet is not easy, it is cosmic,
And the language scratches its tales insipid:
"I was lying under the sky. And theoretically,
The prints on me are the ditches of heaven."
Space carpet
© Copyright: Вячеслав Иннокентьевич Русаков, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010208041
Свидетельство о публикации №120010208041
Рецензии