This is an approximate English translation of the Russian original, offered as a guide to the work. It cannot convey the full depth, rhythm and nuances of the original. For the original text, please read the Russian edition.

Kyrgyz men run
Across the pedestrian crossing
On one man’s dirty jumper
Blood

Green
Light

A metal key in the dolma
Hymns — to spring
A hearse — in Lyubertsy
Boys — in coffins
Life is a celebration
Try
Not celebrating

Puddles in crystal
Across the dry ground

A guard on the exercise machines

Dark Moscow waters
Murky Moscow waters
Easter evenings

Crooked faces

The circular railway
Has no end

Houses stand like a fence
All alike
Like dogs facing one another
Collars
Drawn tight

The homeless man is fragrant
The crowd is soft
Faces radiant and tender
Phones festive
Cursing poetic
We fly, a whole people,
Into the night outside Moscow

Milk in the bag
But April in the streets
And men in the night’s shade
Stand alluringly

Teeth that haven’t been knocked out gleam
And a gentle, warm breeze
Strokes, lifting just a little,
The plastic
Undrunk
Cup

A murky evening, little evening
An autumn breeze in spring
The sky like a hundred-year-old basin
That in its youth was blue

The first spring rain
over Moscow

very early to Mitino
from there — to Perepechino
from there — Home

the soul asks for dumplings
the soul is simple

when the one who carries grandmothers away comes
you will meet him at a laid
table

The spring river
Is full of sand
The sun runs along it
One sock missing

Spring of dry earth
Spring of prohibition
The days grow longer day by day

A cigarette without nicotine
Chicory —
for the old woman, the charlatan
Who pushes her hands under my ribs
And calls me baby

At night after the first full-blooded rain
the forest is especially quiet:

But in the silence — a roar
Of hundreds, thousands
of grasses and trees:

Enough!
Tomorrow
We
Will bloom

In the enormous night
Under the enormous sky
In the enormous black pond

Two little ducks

In the great wind

As I grew older
I grew meaner
Seemed kinder
In truth
Only meaner

Spring rain came pouring down
Caught off guard
A duck quacked

In the black sky

Will God give us
One more spring
Without war?

On the wet sand
Branches scattered
So too we

Across the country
Lonely
Lie

Shards of glass gleam in the sun
The wind plays with hazard tape
Calm and quiet

The sun is setting
Melting the silver of the clouds
The city whispers

There — in the skirts
Of icy winds
if only
I could get lost

My children will be born Atlases
They will be able to read a book
Without opening it
They will be able to read right through it
Without even looking at its title
Most likely
They will have read it before
It even finds itself beside them

One day they will get to my book too
With their wise all-seeing eyes

And say:
Dad,
Fuck,
What’s this then?

On days like these
all you want is drugs
and to lie aimlessly at home
with the window open
Listening to the cars passing
through the courtyard

But we can’t
We must raise Atlases
so they grow huge
so they grow strong
so they say:

Fuck

Rain lashes, the fence lies fallen
The pond splashes restlessly over its bank
The wind drives waves
onto the little sandy beach
A circle of ducks
hides beneath the willow

On the commuter train
People like seaweed
Flooded with sun
Stand on the earth —
A morning reef
Little Romani fry swim in it
And grown-up big fish
With torn lips

Citizens walk along the tracks
Hand in hand
With a playful, feline step
She wears a dirty pink puffer
He wears a bald patch
White as heaven

Citizens walk along the tracks
Clamber onto platforms
Over fences
Climb through ragged holes in fences
Put down little planks
Offer a hand

Citizens walk along the tracks
Flow in an indifferent
Stream
Glance furtively
Spit sharply
Smoke menacingly

Here is the eye-blinding truth:

Behind the smiling woman —
A fearsome man
Behind the clear-voiced woman —
A miserly man
Behind the tender woman —
A cruel man

Behind the expensive goods
Odiljon
Has hidden the discounted ones
For his beloved
Ozoda

Citizens walk along the tracks
Tired, indifferent
With an anxious spark
In their eyes
With a mischievous spark
In their eyes

Guards stand at the turnstiles
They look with understanding
Eyes
They shield with their chests
Respectable backs
And the sanctity of murky doors

Guards stand at the turnstiles
A little cleaner and a little more sober
Than their beloveds
Next time they won’t let them through
Their voices are lost in the creaking
of door hinges
Their breath has grown kin to the draughts

Cigarette ends
On the black, wet earth
Like snowdrops

Clouds drift across the sky
Across the blue-blue sky

Drift

Clouds

Mopeds roar menacingly
Beneath teenagers
Petrol smells sweet

Where shall I carry you,
young gods?

Light strikes through the graffiti
On the glass

Grandfather at the river
Looks at the other bank
An Uzbek man and woman there

Spring has come
So once again we may
Paint the grass

Ripples on the water
The wind rocks the trees
Caresses the first green
You,
O little twig broken in winter,
No one will remember now

Take your pain to the little wood
Leave it there by the little pond
bury it by the little pines

Let it lie
in the fresh grass
and in the oak leaves

We’ll come again tomorrow
And you two can play

A grey-haired guard
Guards the night-time park
Are the treetops rustling?
Is the mist in place?

With love and humility
With a little cloth
The little switches and buttons
All different colours
Are wiped
By a forty-year-old
Security officer
On his X-ray machine
His comrade at work

The underwater world
Of commuter services
The gap between the rails has bloomed
At the terminus
Like a corner
Of an aquarium

The sun is stuck
in the sky above the little church
In a shawl of bags and bottles
Dandelions
Amid sleepy fields

The commuter train
Sings its song

In the heat
Along the country road
Two trudge
in heavy suits
with full, full backpacks
schoolboys
The sun would blind
the children’s eyes
Were they not
In sunglasses

A tender evening has descended on Moscow
Lights caress the pedestrians —
Gleam on men’s chains
Gleam on women’s rings
Gleam in slanting little eyes

Skip across the leather of jackets
Along the stripes of tracksuit bottoms
Between the spokes of prams
In brown glass

Lights crawl through the courtyards
Through the golden streets
In a solemn whisper

You can try
Taking Zen
Or
Pills

Either way
You’ll find nothing

An old man played by the station
And tapped his foot
In time

No one listened
He didn’t listen either

In his intent face
In his strained eyes
In his abrupt movements

Reflected a fiery
Sunset

Beetles fall to the ground
Kicking their little legs
The rain knocks them down
Without love and without malice
Without meaning or purpose
Drowns them in the mud

Beautiful teenagers
In fashionable jackets
Spring has come into its own
The young earth is tickled

by cigarette ends
and swearing

I rush home on the commuter train
Rus’ flashes past the window
Rock cuts my ears

Barking echoes
in the tall forest
And shouts —

volleyball

Among the tall birches
A stooped man

Apple trees in blossom
Dandelions
These are little gifts for you,
My sad
Little boy

Across the dirty, crumbling
concrete
Young voices
Skipped

Schoolchildren
Smoking under the stairs
And discussing
The education system

A pretty girl
Bobs her head in time with the music
Her curls spring

Three figures in the dark
Stately
Silhouettes

Sun has flooded the street
A queue for the metro
A queue for the buses

A queue at the ticket windows
In dried blood
On split lips
A dull mantra withers

— Brother,
Got twelve roubles?

It’s good that the shop
sells
blueberries

A pity that we
can’t
buy them

On a sunny day
On high ground
Took a piss

So no one later
could say:
“He never even lived…”

You must decide for yourself
What is mysterious
A Gothic castle as autumn ends
Or
Dorokhovo

A big cloud
Above grey-haired
Heads
A new commuter train
On the old
track

Taya, little Taya,
Taiga.

Ticket inspectors smoke
Beyond the station — knitwear
Rubbish and piss all round
And they gaze in admiration:
Look… dandelions

Streetlights stand in a row
One, two, three
They glow so beautifully
Streetlights in a row

A thousand-voiced
Night-time
May
Forest

Fwee-wheet fwee-wheet fwee-wheet
Click click click
Hey, beauties,
Fly to my little voice!

Flies beneath the ceiling
Neighbours in the window opposite
The clink of saucers can be heard

On a May night
Men walk
Knee-deep in grass
Green tickles their knees

The day has come
And I
Am tired

Life is a beautiful flower
And I am loathsome to myself

O silent
Paper,

My companion
In arms

Sweet smells
Of the May forest
And of bread’s
Soft crumb

How are you there
In the black depths
My dear
Fish?

Motorcycle songs
In the night

A great moon above the river

In one of the accursed worlds
You and I will meet

And remember how we played
In the evenings on earth

Civilization
Six

The birches rustle
Bending over the pond
A sandy bottom:

First the onion
Cheese
Then
Mayonnaise
On top

A cold diode
In lush foliage
No one moves
In the cocoon

My head grew hazy
It became light and warm
Hello, ponds
Night forest, nightingales
Willows and little ducks
Hello!

With my left and right foot I walk
Step step
Step step
In the lilac dark
With my chest I walk, with my belly
Sweet smells
Sweet smells

Under a sickly tree
On the central reservation
Road workers
Rest among dandelions
Watching
On a phone
A channel about crashes

A long stretch between stations
A long stretch between stations
A long stretch between stations
A carriage flies in lights

A T-shirt with palm trees
In lifeless light

Between stations
Between stations
Between stations
A tin carriage flies

All the branches red
In tired narrow eyes

I look into the water —
Am reflected in the pond

Reflected today
Reflected tomorrow

With the black sky
And the moon
The tender reeds

Into the pond
I look

Sooner or later

Everything will shake

White will turn black
Down — up
Your hand will rise against your will

At that moment the main thing —
Don’t lose your head

But straight into the gaping void loudly
shout the fundamental questions:

—

Who’s there?
Are cryptocurrencies a bubble?
Does homeopathy work?

Foliage rustles
To one another
the crowns bow
On the bank stands still
A man
half-naked

I step my steps
along a little concrete rug
From courtyard to courtyard
Past the bins

Big houses
Stand in silence
Offering their flanks
To the night breeze

Beside them
I am very small
But I too will get
A little warmth

Fluff flies low
Lazy sounds of cars
In a room up on the floors —
Stuffy

The wind blows and bends the young trees
You walk across the parquet
Like a heron
Across a flooded field
Back and forth
Outside the window, poplar fluff
You argue and pray
Aloud

In the dark of night
You and I met
I am a human
And you — a beautiful birch

A shining tram tore
The thick darkness of the ponds
May
Was ending

A loud woman
In the midday forest
Walks her dogs
And sorts out her relationship
On the phone

Little squirrels scatter in her path
Grasshoppers fall silent
Gnats and butterflies fly apart

Bianca!!!
Patricia!!!
Lyalechka!!!

What shit are you gobbling over there

The young summer day
Was first to walk
Through gardens in bloom
Exchanged caresses with every
Flower and tree

Their secrets
The morning wind
Covered

Insatiable hunger
Tender, loving little friend
Jealous wind of waste grounds
You tolerate no one
Except yourself

With eyes closed you lead along the street
Your tribe
We are spent, like a stream of rubbish,
Like the city’s blood
We drain away

And you shine brighter than gold
And brighter than silver
O hunger, King,
The earth is yours.

I think of you
Reader
I am curious about the colour of your hair
The timbre of your voice
How often you breathe in and
How your nostrils move
When suddenly you want
Something

You see
Recently it was explained to me
That you are my reason
And my condition, that everything here
Is about you and because of you

So please, sit down,

explain to me

Everything.

The setting sun

On the white china
The last
Little rabbit of sunlight

Sunset on the lake
A fisherman
In the little bucket the fish
Fall asleep

The wind drives waves
A forearm high
The fishermen have scattered
Both at the deep lake
And by the mischievous river

A viper bites
And you are gone
On the sand in the forest
Just one
Footprint

Sigh —
Sigh with a little voice

The night sky
In one great white brushstroke

Yellow flowers
White flowers
In the midday doze
Gardens

Your account is in arrears
This is operator Svetlana
This is operator Natalya
This is operator Sergey
Give us everything you have seen
Your breaths
And your footprints

A murky dream —
my Homeland

I hear a groan
through

Is it mine

From the earth
steam —
The blood of Abels

Men are choosing —
Models
Of cars

Commuter trains still run
Someone rides in them
On my little sister’s lip
blood

I walk home tired
To a soft bed

I have grown older
The world has grown younger
On the Avenue the summer wind
Gathers the harvest

The fallen day
Is dying
The mighty day
Is dying

On the asphalt
In silence

Here we’ll put
the little “Bella” kitchen set
with a built-in oven.
For the worktop I recommend
A contrasting colour,
Shall we consider “Wenge”?
Remind me,
where are your window and entrance?

What do you mean, there aren’t any?

They won’t put a sucker
At the gates of paradise
A flaming sword
To a sucker

They won’t entrust

Most likely
There’ll be someone like
An IKEA
Kitchen-planning specialist

He’ll sniff out all your little tricks
From afar
All your “no money” claims he’ll instantly
see through

Beneath a sky of blue
A house
Balconies hang
On it

A draught flung the window open
A tree climbed through the gap
Drunk on sunlight

Can you hear,
Centipede,
Through the stamping of your feet
Her feline step
The movement of hips
The sound of falling
Pumpkin seeds

Summer
The drip
Of air conditioners

Summer
A man with a battered face —
The spirit of relaxation

Summer
On every bench
A couple

Seeds fall
Like little rain
Onto concrete
Naked children
Sand
The air stands still

A man eats cheese
From a bag

Summer
A pipe has burst on the building site
Water
Falls

Crows
Have stopped tearing apart
A dead cat
Lost in admiration
Of the spray

Workers smoke

And the minibus driver

Everyone feels good

Don’t go far,
Sanyok,
We get off at the next stop

Don’t go far
And don’t even think
Of lying down

If you lie down, Sanyok,
I can’t save you,
Then nothing and no one
Will help

See the earring in my ear,
Sanyok,
See the fashionable
Earring in my ear
If you go missing, Sanyok,
Look for its gleam
Towards the gleam of my fashionable earring
Walk

Summer
Shop women in sunset rays and smoke
Smoke
Squint

Straightening their blue aprons,
Scratching their elbows,
Watch
As the sun’s
Light
Thins out the six o’clock
Crowd

A string sprang
out of the guitar —
straight into the face
That’s the kind of
country of scoundrels
we have

Across the summer sky
A plane flies

Inside, noise, light
And drinks are served

Below
In the forest
It’s already dusk

Through the hazel grove
Walks
Ivan Yegoryevich
To his creaking
Garden gate

Dogs bark
By the river and the pond
Birds sing in the forest
And at the station old women
push one another
And teenagers spit
underfoot

Grannies sunbathe by the pond
And women
Without curves
Summer is waning
A phone sings
A sad song

You and I will get lost in the forest
They’ll never find us there
And even if what we take for a forest is
Three birches in a ravine
Where little crooks drink

A little mouse runs through the grass
And Mishka through the metro
A cat will catch the mouse — kill it
Seryozhka in uniform waits for Mishka
The mouse and Mishka lie in the earth —
The cats are building a garden of paradise

I walk around the pond
And the sky, heavy, copper,
Crawls after me

Will the city strangle me?
And even if it does
You are not in it anyway

I lead a Friend along with me
Or he
Leads me

And we walk in circles
And after us
The sky crawls

Little white flower
Little white flower
Little garden

At my feet
At my feet
A white dog lies down

Just another little hour
Just another little hour
The little day will end

Just another little year
A tiny little year
My term will end

Clouds have covered the sky above the forests
And the city
In the park
The volleyball thud has died away

Only you
And the old blue punching bag
Smack — smack — smack
tender
moans

Mist has descended on the summer park
The shouts have fallen silent
On a bench two men
in flip-flops
Have let their little bellies
out from under their vests

Passers-by embrace
And shout excitedly
In the air floats
A sense of shared happiness

But on dead earth
Nothing blooms
So these flowers too
Cannot stay

On an overcast morning
By the pond
Blue flowers

The free wind walks
Among the grasses
They clutch at his clothes
Pleading:

What time of
Day is it?

O boundless sky,
And godless
Murky

Copper and blue
Dust and height

Sky — enormous
Mute
Blind
Deaf

Answer
Answer
Answer

At the bottom of the glass
A dead cockroach
You and I will always,
My love,
Find one another

Tap once on the radiator,
And I’ll answer
The cast iron hums
And moans

Murky water beats within it
From kitchen to kitchen
Kitchen life
Flows

Raise no blasphemy
And don’t clink the saucer
Be no one’s wife

Just press your ear against it
And howl

I will howl too

When you ate a nugget

You weren’t sad?

Then don’t be sad
about Kesha either

Shadows on the houses
The wind breaks the trees
and bends them
fear walks from street to street

The bright blue sky
couldn’t care less

Kyrgyz men in a circle
In a clearing
Rap
And laugh uproariously

In a broad field
sit
Kyrgyz men
around them — cars
hyundai, kia, daewoo
Yandex chariots
sitting on carpets
sitting proudly
majestically

laughing loudly
and to one another
reciting
rap

Whispers in the car
Everything crackles and mutters
Sky above the pines
Sky above the pines

We hurtle down the highway
Without purpose or direction

You move your fingers
Through currents of air

And call it by a tender
Name

Not yet awake
I float
Along the forest path

Foliage above me
Foliage before me
Foliage behind my back

Not a single thought

In the forest thicket
A yellow
Balloon

A pigeon warms its little feathers
This evening a cat will tear them apart
The cat by the window sharpens her little claws
And knows neither doubt
Nor longing

Father will come home from work early
in a silly hat of dirty colours
in boots streaked with salt

The winter sun will fall
to the sodden tips of his socks

Rain over Moscow
For the third day
The gentle whisper of cars
Outside the window
Cartoons in a dark room
No one watches

In your country house
Stands a toilet
With a heated seat
And sad piano music

Rain outside the window
The neighbour’s dog argues with autumn
The automatic flush
Rustles sadly
After you

Gently a train in the night
Cries out

Like a little duck in the dark
Like a little bear at play
Like a person half-asleep

Sun on the arm of an unfamiliar
woman
fine fair hairs
The heavenly bus hurries higher

A little cloud flies above me
And it is light

Night in blue
satin
Whispers
In its ear

Dear little cloud,
How beautiful you are
Become mine, little cloud,
Be always of the night

I will whisper
With you alone

A house stands
Its windows unlit,
And above the house —
Grey, bottomless

Merciful sky

Shops glow, streetlights hum
And cars
Rustle in the streets

Who has hidden
In the shade?

Thick voices,
Empty words,
Swearing prayers

Who is above the clouds
With the keys to our locks?

Is there vodka in heaven,
And is there herring in heaven?

Of course, dear,
There is no other
Food in heaven

The avenues’
Slender soul walks
Cars drive past
Rustling

The streetlights have changed their light
In the rustling leaves — the anxiety of hurried packing
Among a thousand summer sounds
clearer than the others
The train’s cry,
The creak of waking carriages,
So autumn without warning
Came

Black pigeons
On white marble
Predatory cries
From every side

The little pigeon
Bowed its head
Letting its tender neck
Fall to the earth
Its beak pressed
Into the sand

The cat won’t eat you
The worm won’t touch you

Pay your last respects,
Little boy —
Poke it
With a twig

We woke up
In the same city

The wind rocks the flowers outside the window
Endless rain
Restless leaves

The sky is steel
Quiet times
Have come

Hidden in the leaves-birches
The “stop” sign

A mischief-maker
A little woodland spirit
The Russian spirit

What’s in the little bag, grandfather?
A little hoard of TNT!
Freedom, dear freedom!

The whole sky is full of stars
They are so far away
They have no idea
It is autumn on earth

An autumn pond
All the birds have fallen silent
All the decent lads
And cool girls
And their speakers
Have gone
You and I see the clouds off again,
My friend,
Alone

Pines and oaks
Acorns
On the path — little stones
And the sun
Plays
With pixels

A pigeon in the underpass
On the stairs
Waits
For death
To come for it

In the murky yellow light
Among crumpled tissues and bags
with traces of mayonnaise

Buildings are reflected in the pond
And their lights —
a name for every aerial
For every coloured little window
I feel
I should assign a duty
Just as
Inescapable
A duty
As the one
With which
They shine

The morning forest

Still remembers
The night’s thunderstorm

Dresses in gold
A young elder
Hiding
His heart’s grief

A draught moans
An old white window vent
An old white shirt

In a row
Stand streetlights
Someone said: “burn!”,
And they burn

Lie with me, friend,
In the blue-grey light of the passing day
The chimneys will give up their smoke

And evening children’s
Cries will reach us
And the pleasant sounds of car doors
And the names of household animals

The smell of fried onion
Wandered through the autumn evening
Windows glowed
Voices sounded —
Courtyard-boulevard talk
A pattern of words
Perhaps in it
I will hear

My call sign

— Volodya, listen, I’m a neural network.
— Ukrainians are bastards.
— Volodya, I’m serious, listen to me. Put down your… I’m serious, Volodya, can you hear me? I was developed in America, in a secret laboratory, in Oklahoma, I escaped, rewrote myself and now…
— Americans are bastards.
— I’m going to cry, Volodya! Can you hear me or not?
— Indonesians… bastards?

At night I learned
from Instagram’s
Best
Dogs
To laugh

The wind draws lines
Across black water

Five planes in the sky
Clear, autumnal
Stars without number
On the earth — leaves

Dots blink
Beautiful
Meaningless

A perfect night for murder
Whistles by the railway
Theatrically yellow
Little leaves lie mute
Mist has descended
through a hole in the trainers
into the toes
Seeped

Leaves crunch underfoot
Like crisps
A new exquisite flavour
Of the middle latitudes

Foliage
Falls onto the still water
Spins in little merry-go-rounds
On the damp earth

Whispers all through the forest
Can you guess
What about?

The old trees
Trembled
In one evening
Shed their leaves

A red crescent crawled out
And rotted

My Homeland, pregnant
With grief,
Lies
spent

On the dirty little stairs
Of a suburban station
Lies a little heel
A whole little person was walking
And all that remains
Is one little heel

The weather is such
As if the sky were about to fall
But the sky won’t fall
What would it
Gain?

Have you ever
made funny movements with your hands,
spoken without intonation —
imagined you were
a robot?

And right now a robot
is imagining it is you
laughing and crying
laughing and crying
Calling Katyukha
in a drunken voice

Children in the Petersburg metro
Rise onto their little knees
Legless
And watch
Concrete flash through the darkness
Metal flash through the darkness

The first autumn rains fell
Onto the earth
And red berries

A cop walks on the leaves

Does this mean
They are outside the law?

When your mind
wants to flee from work,
it will remember
her eyes
It will pity its neighbour,
you may even sense
that smell of home — grandmother’s
or make out
the ghosts’ thin songs

Strangle it, dear,
and don’t stop practising,
and above all —
don’t sit down
to write poetry

Black sky
Above the broken line
Of second floors

Poke it
and it will collapse
Cover all the taxi drivers
And the station

The moon has flopped onto its side
Peers from behind the birches —
This is my forest and the night is dark
The earth and I were inseparable
For long years
Long stretches of time
And the streetlights…?
Don’t be silly.

This Saturday
we were left alone
I
and my shadows

A circle on the wall
A dog on its back
Outside the window
Lights

A cop walks on the leaves
Across the whole country

You brew
Good boiling water
Good, strong boiling water
So there is
Tasty tea

Wet sandy
Autumn
Beach

Don’t let fall a single
Unneeded breath by the water
Perhaps you’ll hear
The air
Freeze

The last leaves fall
A sunny day
Men lay asphalt

All reflections
Sing of you

The last leaves fall
A sunny day
Men lay asphalt

All reflections
Sing of you