I look into the deep earth,
and I have eyes, and I have depth,
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,
I asked auntie Liudmila,
while she was selling sunflowers at
Lyublinsko station, and 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?