And behind the wall the sea roams

Centaurs

Just as if breathing in a pillow, blind and out of the blue

Something cold is hot

The frozen steppes of my centaurs

And then it seems

Beats somewhere

There behind the mound

Dew-smelling garden

And next

Oh la- la- lum

Goy you ho –ho- hum tour blue-eyed

His lips twinkled with an empty face

Wild clown of hoofs

At six in the morning walked away from the square

Gas gradually

Fought in the ears

Such fireworks of claps

Flashing flock

That his throat exploded

And a damp echo

Lasted raw and enfilade and lasted away from hearing

Look at that muzzle from the mirror staring into the twilight

In the sea which is near

In a long echo of separation

With what did not happen

With those who were not seen

Sold wordless

Betrayed for dishonor

Not for a snuff for gunpowder

Rustles full cellar

And behind the wall the sea wanders like a wine smell

Who their centaurs at the wedding feast filled up to the Lapiths

Snoring and hot

Shy of looks and laughter

Housekeepers

In the tsar's mansions servants

Along the smoking breathable

Marinette marvelous pacing

Frowning and muttering

What a misfortune these forks

What kind of knives for attacking

From under the brow of the damp as stems in the garden licking

Mowing blinking

Plum crushed with tongue

Do not dare to die

In the direction of the sun boiling mirrors

Wincing

Carved chairs overturning

Tapping

With impatience

Lips furiously chewing

Breasts which are as stupefying as on a silver platter

Float under the nose

Cannot stand on one's feet

Spin-turns spicy mess

And turn away

Rush to bite

In shine and strong breasts

And from the back, hugging

Beating prey

Away to growl and moan

On the forehead of themselves and across the sky the fish and animals swim

Mosquitoes are insects

Barefoot and unfamiliar

In the flasks of transparent planets

In the laboratories of stations

Somewhere in the Arctic

Satellite navigation

Abandoned and stained

On soaking maps

Erased and removed by fiber-optic

In the sky, junk is reeling from involuntary figures

Feverish scenery

Who do not understand

What a concert in the yard

Where there is a symphony that is sharp

For the bone in the knee

For the sake of this chain of subcutaneous

Rolling vertebrae

Everything is shaking and rustling

Neck drags shamelessly and in the air is wasted

That it was then that the milk of centuries fled

The neighbor opposite

Do not breathe in the corridor

And in the third world room

Than not an argument

Leave the lines for the crossing

There is no escape

But a slow outcome

Shaking in the smoke, incredible screech

With a crowd of alarming characters

* * *

Solar cardiogram

On water levels

Cascade to nowhere

But if to be eloquent

But if you are well arrogant

And with protruding charisma

Puffing his pike -

Escapes to Petersburg

Underground

Jittery note

Fluid and restless

Poor as an entrant

For the first time in the city

In a granite notebook with a padlock

For new adults

Urban incidents

Where you can further stare

At the Mousikian salutes

To the ridiculous waterfall

Unfulfilled English rhetoric

Loosen one's spoon

Scoop out a clock

With a luster in the larynx

Turn the propeller

And float through the drops of the oratorio

What a wild land

What wild people

Around fountains settled

Why them why so many of them

Are about to swallow electricity

And pour out all

On what then tell the eye

Where to put up with a gas

Globe-traveler goodbye

Or by the pike command

Zane by the will of the ocean

After the dead captains

To fly with effervescent endorphins

To smoke under explosions frontal

To spark under the shots of freedom

And here it was already shining

The cascade went out and it turned cold

As if there was no transparent score

The steps dried up and the notes evaporated

The carpenter joined the son of the lumberjack

And the fountain

Is about to winter where there until frozen

* * *

Wakes up

In the premonition of an airplane

With a girl

With an elbow catheter

(So ​​as not to leak endlessly

Tearing skin)

Sipping stunning clarity

For someone the bitumen is plastics

Listens to the Repin then the Menukhin

Until it rolls down to the Ostrich / Rostropovich / Richter

Karayan

Slams the lid of the macbook

The cornea wipes with aquamarine

Blossoming in the depths of topaz

Nestled against a glass loggia

Treads on mercury asphalt

Not yet dried

And suddenly

Instead of a pterosaur-like airplane with melting

Girl

Claps of somersaults and somersaults

Flashing logarithms

Over the high-rise of a high-rise roof

Looks and remembers -

Responses to this volatile cuneiform

Impossible to find

And if it is possible, then only verbal rhymes

And those in ragged fields

And later and at all understand what to look for and do not need

That this is one of the things

For which there will be no answers

As will be no

Like girls with an airplane

Like houses with aquamarine

Pop-up in cold water

Like a raw egg

Dancing in the palms of the transparent

Scuba diver

Sh. N.

1

Stretched and toiled clung to the shoulder blade

Or not a shoulder blade beyond the rib

There a little to the left of the sternum and not there

As if the muscle pulled a trapezoid

But only from another substance

Heavy and weightless

You can neither soften it with your fingers

Camel's hair does not comfort

And so dragged by the will of the glassblower

Hot still breath

While the cold is not at all numb

Stiff and ridiculous figure

Transparent elongated with broken arm

Stared glassy already

And there it snapped and sounded sweet

As if this are all the purpose and all the purpose

It was only this ringing that was scattered

Such a painful already unreal

Everything bothers sometimes

And the muscle tears transparent useless

Playing a melody on it

Which seemed to be yesterday

2

And so it snapped and the air rang

So desperately for emigration

Cossack pulling Kabatsky m o n o t o n o u s

As if in a piercing steppe

Frozen wire in frost

All trembled and grew tense

In high-tension flour vibrated

And broke

3

Now there is only snow

In the glass from frost impossible

Before the Carvings

Translated by Akhan Tuleshov, Author Kanat Omar

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