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Poems from a Stool · 2025

Oh Well

To crucify — say, five times or so, to nail them down on arrival, to let go, and then once more let in — to the castle, to shelter. If I could — then my heart's gone soft. "So what. Who cares?" — "A pity…" My keep has turned into a lock-up. The key is lost… but oh well.
Draft translation, the author is still revising it · written in Russian