And no questions left at all...

Mom



... And no questions left at all,
apart from the eternal — these do not count.
Mechanically watching the clock. Eight.
In the news talking about Syria and Davos.
Open a book, actually, on the off chance, and
wait... But the memory boundaries not to cross.
Like all as always, but his chest looks unusually empty,
so that the echoes turn on and off, twitching on the knives
like the breath of the stadium, muffled, dysacousia...
And the February midnight, and mildly bitter robusta
diablo as in the morning called this mixture a grocer, Jacques,
grinning into his mustache, they say, will Wake up any Barbie,
even, it seems, knowing how aptly
the smirk and the word go in the goal...
And attachment to life as an attachment to the woman,
from the category of diseases rather than panaceas.