It's very simple - first you choose the sky
Maria Khamzina
It's very simple-first you choose the sky. And the sky in the list of promotions includes all - it laughs, let's dance, baby, dance, baby, and the warm wind through the alleys you smell. You get used to looking at the ground with a dashing squint, you get used to the fact that thunderstorms sing to you like a bird of God, you live from a flat to a smoke break, the poet is obliged to pour a throat, and believe gut.
The collar will squeeze, but it later, almost does not hurt. You're so hooked, your lips are numb. And you're in the ranks, but stand yet stand "at ease", and if free it, baby, almost you. You're every line, you're in every letter he perechat, freedom of speech you are looking for in sex, wine, grass, and the sky was gently laid on your hands and shoulders, and gently pats your head windy...
...And the sleeves are tied tight, pulled the hand, and you scream, breaking - Lord, have mercy! For that, let go, because I wrote only bitches!
And - released. And quietly, in the back - rise! Go!
And you stand, shrouded awkwardly in darkness and light, a ridiculous Lazarus in a shirt with an angelic shoulder... And man you slowly mold of the poet, and not looking up. But you can't not answer.