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Ilya Krivonosov
Poems
Mar 2019
Motley woodland
In the motley woodland
Little that'll understand.
In four months
Rye ripens.
From squealing jigsaw
Dust settles.
Four carnations
Nailed to the keel.
Sixteen degrees.
Africa is warmer.
Sixteen erasers.
Darker hair.
In a freshwater lake
Usual trout.
In the March of the bulldozer
April is heard.
#four
#sixteen
Written by
Ilya Krivonosov
39/M/Balashikha
(39/M/Balashikha)
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