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This piece is about 4 printed pages long. It is copyright © Sveta Sdvig and Peter Golub and Jacket magazine 2008. See our [»»] Copyright notice. The Internet address of this page is http://jacketmagazine.com/36/rus-zdvig-trb-golub .shtml
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peeling an orange. a.
what’s with the bloody hands?
it resisted. m.
and why’s the boat rocking?
high tide. right.
so why’d you call me?
I just showed up.
5 minutes from the shore.
no bypass on the other side.
as if you didn’t know.
I’ve always come, why stop today?
why don’t they go survey the murders.
my dear, only murders,
are visited at 4 a.m. across the water.
here is the world, before it was awakened
similar to an investigation summary
the noises outside terrify me
in fact a cartoon hero
that is I’m from here and from all sides
clearly the leaves are together
don’t “dance”, but “better than”
holding onto the notepad
recording proverbial answers
to everything that happens
and at the same time
from below the hand carefully brushes off
don’t throw the pen
you can use plain Russian
the whole city or at least
from the neighbor’s windows to the picture in the peep hole
standing where the evening awakened into morning
the night awakens from a day
enough, it shouldn’t be thought
that those who can tell apart the parties
or the letters on the spines of books
all to the last one are sentinels
with an endless sword in the left hand
the comet is reflected in a thousand glasses
and in all that leaves a trace
wait through a nuclear war in the basement
make huts from whatever is around
explain indecency to a child
if you rewrite a prose poem
mix the voiced and voiceless consonants
wait for me, please
finish reading, do you hear dripping
no probably the radiator
come to trick us
rewrote three pages, then three more
the blue light ought to allay
cut outs from old newspapers
I return home as planned
they ought to teach you how to make decorations
pretty, shiny, wrapping
the appetizing smell
welcomes the content inside
desire to build a house in the fairytale
the engrossing forest
dawn and dusk above
frozen with a sinking heart, look at the others
throw the tree ornaments
to be mixed with the holiday
the crooked line is calmer
falling down and silk
if you lift your eyes
from my elbows to god’s heels
the hat won’t drop
the wind will stop
an open road to the sea
from my armchair to the ashtray
on the other shore
easy to stroll
holding onto the black cuff
the diffused color of the white shirt
the hidden smile
open a new credit account of trust for me
reaching up with a paper phrase
I’ll justify and certainly change my interest of 18.5%
and orient by proverbs
tightening the girdle –only without quotations
awaiting a blow to the cheek
the hair combed differently
the film turned inside out
only let the words move
their primary meaning
it will be illegal to photograph the dead and dying
and those who jump from windows
I await my blow
shaved I’ll stretch from right to left and write
that I’m already legal
of proper age
almost 2 kilos in equivalent
Sveta Sdvig (b. 1985) is a student at the Russian State University for the Humanities. She has published in various journals including, Vozdukh and Text Only. She spends her time between Moscow and Samara.