laika

遠くに飛んでるってー
tooku ni tonderu tte –
どうして泣いてるの、クロカ?
doushite naiteruno, kloka?
あたしきっとー
atashi kitto –

緑服をきている人
midori fuku wo kiteiru hito
きょはたくさんあるー
kyo ha takusan aru –
みんあ心配させたみたいー
minna shinpai saseta mitai-

この カプセル は
kono kapuseru ha
暖かい気持ちいい
atatakai kimochi ii
子宮のなか
shikyuu no naka

クロカ、またねー
kloka, mata neー

にどとあかない扉がしまる
nidoto akanai tobira ga shimaru

星になったの犬、えねんにとんでいます。
hoshi ni natta no ken, enen ni tondeimasu.

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Когда мужчина умирает
С ним исчезает всё:
Его первый снег,
Его первый поцелуй,
Его первая драка –

-yevgeniy yevtushenko

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Young love

Young and of spritely nature, you are now aware of the existence of a milk-skinned maiden, clad in the armor of spring’s flourish.
important words, words that leave the ever-abstruse machinations of time jittering and unsure, escape with tense surety.
as important as the works of the heart of echo herself, and less taciturn, perhaps.

though i am useless
love me anyway
and this sadness is what love is –

though we retire to clover fields
chastise me for meandering too often
and this joy is what love is –

my brother, allow just this of a soul perhaps too tempted to stare ahead blithely –

enjoy all of this. always remember every single thing.

striking pavement

the coasting words that float past
the world which only hints at repose:
you look sleepily forward, as though underneath
amethyst waves

the symetric clicking which keeps us plodding along
tearing through memories, shearing away hopes
those things we would never forget, but which remain untouched
because of softly dappling streaks
of well-shampooed hair

what is regret if we can’t feel it?
and where will the righteous die?
in dreams we may never wake from –
where time has stopped without being so polite
as to leave drops of dew behind

breathing now slightly more labored –
considering whether anne sexton knows yet now
and why decision has in its reptilian hands
a threatening blade –
a snarling cudgel –

to lie here at night
and hope i could watch you breathe
doze
and hold you in our sacred position.

but what good is hope without action?

what good is decision without forethought?

what good are we by ourselves?

nonetheless we are the glance of a stranger in the car of a foreign subway,
but i remember the glance all too vividly.