there is a light escape,
air lens of the midnight trip.
lines, let them go the pace,
never fade;
upper-case flakes of sign
twinkle on eyes surface.
who let the lights escape?
there is a little vortex
revolving over
the long green board.
we have rags that whisper,
twisting a harlequin garland, plexus
of four languages; stains on vision
of nimble fingers,
some significant points are sinking
now, powerless.
3 июня, 2024 год
Cask
© Copyright: Владимир Лодейников, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124060306640
Свидетельство о публикации №124060306640
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