meltwater soup
we sort it at dusk, we sort it at noon in mornings we sort it at night
we sort and we sort we dig a channel
through **** there is never enough room for them
the man on the speaker
keeps the records
he writes he writes when the light thins to nothing anymore he writes
your pale knuckles they write
your brittle ankles
they steps outside the bars
the siberian sky watches over us
it whistles our questions back
it whistles our hundred thoughts
digging deeper into the
meltwater soup
we sort it at dusk, we sort it in mornings at midday we sort it at night
we sort and we sort
the man on the speaker
keeps the records
he writes he writes when the light thins to nothing anymore he writes
we dig a channel through hoar
there is never enough room for us
he shouts
dig deeper
the rest of you, harmonize
it raises the norma
his eyes show nothing
dig deeper
the rest of you harmonize
you others
dig deeper he says
meltwater soup at daybreak
we sort you at night
we sort you at midday and mornings
we sort you at dusk
we sort and we sort
the man on the speaker
keeps the records
he writes he writes when the light thins to nothing anymore he writes
he shouts
make it all seem useful
**** is architecture from Kolyma
he shouts
file the reports
then rise
and dishevel them again
there is so much more room
for expansion
meltwater soup in mornings
we sort you at night
we sort you at midday
**** is architecture from Kolyma
we sort you at dusk
in mornings
we sort and sort
**** is architecture from Kolyma
his accounting is perfect
his small corrections strike you
we meet every quota
the man on the speaker
your pale knuckles
it whistles our questions
it grants us the records
**** is architecture from Kolyma
your pale knuckles
your brittle ankles
filed