*

from here I'll fuck with you,

even though you can't hear me:

the trees are covered with leaves,

in winter they are like stones.

I look out the window, studying

cloud architecture.

what is the autumn tram

and the conifers of the local shores?

What is sadder than mooing?

ships going to sea?

Rhyme despair or diligence -

what will change? pour out

whether melancholy or joy - everything is one.

everything dies in the snowy blue.

how everything beautiful is deserted,

like these waves on the Neva.