the winding path
of darkness and death
through clinging ghosts
and angels disguised as plague
destroying the memory of sin
with a disease that must be fought
wielding the sword of repentance


Russian poets

Russian poets are cold

and distant

and usually broken

by some historical force of revolution

or stifling politics

forcing them deeper into the soul

and the only way out

is to craft the pain of comrades

and human nature

into pure genius



They sure have screwed up WordPress…

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She wanted me to be


But there was no revolution

To stir the poetry

No frozen tundra

To bite my skin

And eat my fingertips

So I sold sunscreen

In St. Petersburg

By the beach


love a girl

love a girl

who is always on her phone,

even during a romantic dinner;

relieves the stress

of all the poems i couldn’t write

and cuts down on small talk

If you love me
Tell me clearly
With words
Or symbols
Or calligraphy
I’m tired of playing
The soothsayer

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don’t want to read your poetry
it ties me up in knots
and makes love to me

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my lover
is a ghost
distant yet close;
always beyond
the vagueness
of my fingertip



this drug of solitude,
deeper and deeper
floating, sinking
in my head
in my head
through the silent film
of what used to be time

in the music

get lost in the music
nothing else matters
all love is found
all love is sound
in the music
express love
express yourself
in the music