***
The
criminal who tries to die ‒ he was
close, nonetheless
he changed his mind,
he felt
sorry for the dead ‒ he felt them
throbbing
in the iron, copper, in crude oil,
in the ears
of wheat, in the grass and
he was
seized with great sorrow
over
the woods, they clasped him by the throat
under
his goose skin, lice were running
and he
was always listening to the silence
ground
by windmills and the Bolshevik
comrades
were coming to kiss him
with
bloody mouths although he’s
a remainder,
lint ‒ he can’t snuff it
his
huge pension is left for a long time.
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