makes me feel utterly incapable, and grown
feet condense into droplets of freezing blood, as I wait at
Dostoevskaya station, where
the intimidating marble has a soul of its own.
into the deep earth and I have eyes and I have depth, and
I have speed, as I am earth moving through earth
from all perspectives,
apparently, I think and I know, but
how do I reach there? at Prospect Mira
while she was selling sunflowers at
the Lyublinsko station, while
I was running to catch up my breath beyond
the boundaries in which has been conceived,
while the worldly murals violate the norms and “The Idiot” reaches greatness on the Moscow walls. Silhouettes wrestling on a mortal terrain; his umbra, my umbra. Whose and which, and when? I simplify it down to the breath and keep running.
What a rush?
when the geometry of "sombra"
seems to have a life of its own on the world's marmoring walls.
the underworld seems so close to my eyes, and
annoyance takes shape above
it is more intelligent than
I, who can see the train coming,
bother impotence resting on earth’s shoulders, and
Sleeping Giant can wait forever for the lost sailor.
What a blessing!
just checking in as
madness and earth are shaking,
while the sun rises in Thunder Bay, and
the trucks at the Moscow subway take speed, all
I need is a piece of earth under my feet.
the blanket hugs Earth's chest, and
steps move holding a bouquet of sunflowers while
gazing like a thief, whose big eyes are
rolling on the ground, “don’t you see how steps flow with
Parisian prudence, I am brave and happy on top of Your Eiffel.” When?
the eyes become wizards of clouds, and
“I”- Rest in wonder.
the burn in my chest,
as the sunny dream chops its edges.
I run “happy” warming up in “ La vita è bella, ”
while the soles of my feet are burning
into the dark earth. Who cares? only
into the dark earth roots grow,
all lilac is still there at the Moscow Metro, while
illusion succumbs to temptation running faster and
the underworld has a life of its own,
a life of greater depth and purity, while
my eyes touch the cold striking murals, and
the book falls on the
I thought you settled the matter of
unattainable, while lilac was waiting, on my way,
eating the cherry gem with
the spoon touching Earth's lips, and only
auntie Liudmila is content for selling every
sunflower while Earth’s warm darkness hugs the blanket, and
her glowing eyes soothe in hypnotizing beauty at
the Moscow Subway,
I let it be!
Dostoevskaya is a Moscow Subway station. The station walls contain murals/ illustrations of Fyodor Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, along with many other scenes (including illustrations of The Idiot). Prospect Mira (Peace) is a large open road, central to a big city. "The book.." is all knowledge we humans created and possess, and that does not answer our big questions."Whisper" is the invisible reality; the essence, the mystic, the soul, the spirit, ...