like a gentle nothingness
with airplanes never before
I did not eat lunch and wine
I haven't seen the milk extracted from them
As the milk of milk planes sour cream
and beaten butter
But most of all will regret looking at
How do they flutter into the sun…
Standing into the legs
I will go to happiness
Further than the sea
Standing into your fingers
I will see the sun
more than gold
putting his feet on
I will talk to the table
about your mouth
hardened from heavy
I will roll the shoes…
It all starts not immediately. First of all, movement. That strange, almost effortless slipping space that forces the body to become one focus point. The body must listen to weight, knee, the slightest tilt, and this permanent,…
In the morning, the sun on the table draws a long, sharp rectangle. It lies a photo.
Yesterday, she looked like a clues like an accusation. Today is just a thing. Glossy paper, absorbed by a decade -old light. The finger slips on the surface, does not feel anything. …
At eight in the morning. Coffee in the palm of your hand is barely lukewarm. He rolls out of the corner. A small, white, dingy God, starting with his monotonous ritual. His world is perfectly simple - a floor plane that needs to be turned clean. He has no doubt. …
