A hundred thousand dislikes
Maria Khamzina
Hundred of thousands of nelubova. Blanket
of all the pieces that...Bridges
I didn't. I was sewing.
Changing life on black crosses -
"b-2" - hit. Double deck on a mine.
And again darn torn edges,
And, as luck would have it, not on the edge, in the middle,
Where all will see...Stupid seamstress!
Nibbling your pricked fingers again.,
Of all hopes, the last one hurts the most...
But someone's life is stretched in the Hoop,
You're practicing it again.
In the art lies, and embroidery-on the brink of,
To not pitch, not burn out to the ground...
From hundreds of words an untold wounds,
Like a needle hidden in an Apple.
A hundred dislikes. Each-through,
A hundred grams of delirium. Two hundred cognac.
And will not save me from the draft
A hundred dusty, ghostly bits...
Even if they all loved me
