Broken clouds on the shoulders, wimas in the blades... Bashny.Net

Anshe



Broken clouds on the shoulders, wimas in the blades,
I cover the face and knees in the gravel.
And greedily drinks the sky, and hits it, taking the remnants
you told me ahead of time, because of the rules.
I gravel the smell of newly dug clay,
and wax out of the Church, and the red burning cloves...
And someone I sawed, or raspolovinit,
but I'm lonely, deserted and wildly detrimental.
I rise from my knees, I have to live and learn
in a wide bed, between his teeth the night moaning...
...The only choice promises a lone wolf
Under a full moon to become a brave vozacka the pack...