1、It's fine! I wouldn't mind if someone kept me in this world a little longer.
2、The poets complain that it's like a Communist Party meeting.
3、There used to be true friendship among nations, but now, it's the Tajiks and Jews who actually rule this country.
4、So we don't elect the ones who can rule the country but those who want to rule.
5、I'm not even trying to escape this. Because there's no way out. None! Because what's next? In a couple of years I'd have a wife, a bunch of kids. It would stink of potties, piss, and food here. I'd have to schlepp to a country house. Meet the wife's family. What else? A wedding with its stupid traditions and drunken guests. The registry office, with that woman reciting all those pompous cliches. Snotty-nosed kids with diarrhea! See, I know for sure that with that kind of burden, I'd quit writing. Quit and turn into my moronic father. An asshole drinking in secret, demanding fresh bread every day.
poems：
"Oh sky,oh sky,I shall dream of you.
It could not be that you've gone utterly blind.
And the day burned up like a blank page.
a little smoke and a little ash."
"It's a sort of anthem.
Whales inch their way out of the seas they were born in.
For everywhere is their home.
They're told, "Avoid sands, buoys, and nets!"
But they're like: "Who gives a fuck".
It's such a pleasure to see their graceful movements.
Causing so many waves.
It's a pleasure to see how.
Amid all this mess.
And all those waves.
The whales look sleek as bottles or satin-sided moles Or it's a pleasure to see that they know.
That beauty is not that.
It's in the knowledge that the sea.
Is bounded by the shore,
and yet never ends.
Whales inch their way out of the seas they were born in.
For everywhere is their home.
"Little white books,
and little red books.
lined the bookshelves of my childhood.
A library of modern science fiction.
But they're all trashed by careless bastards.
I'd toss and turn in bed all night.
Dreaming, of flying my spaceship, through the stars.
To fly between black holes. Now I sit on my ass, on a cheap stool.
And know...
I'll never conquer Mars...
The gate we enter foaming at the mouth."
The speckled cosmos hangs above
The corpse on your doorstep's welcome
Lumps of sugar swirl in a cup
The black soils will froth up
The corpse will replace me everywhere
The corpse will screw my wife
Snort coke, smoke weed
It'll lose its mind in empty hotels
Force out words in a boiler room club
Dance, throwing around scapes of phrases
The maggots in the corpse eyes stare
The crowd swarms like woodlice
Chunks of skin peel off the face
Teeth like the keys of a piano
Groups of corpses in condemned buildings
Make a plan, split the loot
This party of the dead marches in time
A parliamentarian gets wet in a pit
The army of the dead sings terror
Corpses run street checkpoints
The corpses smooch in the windows
In an underground pod hotel
A wailing ripens in a ruined mouth
The last coffin opens its mouth wide
The last corpse leaves its coffin
lcons of corpses on dashboards
Corpse porn in 3D glasses
Their children hang out at the mall
Shadow of a corpse across your face
Fares, please!
