Larisa Biyuts

So, the sky is broken-
the melting splinters in branches of trees.
People crumble into the snow,
and the silence
...

Ashes and flowers; some poetry;
the frigid truth of autumn bonfires;
the sad magic; the magic sin;
the artificial paradise; the graphic laughter.
...

Take other train. Be like a wind.
Don’t care about a ticket,
for the golden leaflet is in your hand,
and your past will catch you up
...

One more nameless autumn;
October betrays you again
now with the rain
now with a glimpse of the sunlight.
...

O white September with blue eyes,
you smell of coffee that I spilled
today at lunch. It was my agitation.
You and I are satisfied - today.
...

I felt someone come.
It’s opaque sense of someone’s presence.
I expect, you are reality?
Speak nothing
...

Hours, days, weeks rustle after;
the amber blizzard rushes after,
throwing dead leaves onto my face.
Caught in the toils of autumn,
...

The play of hues beckoning outside.
The gloaming’s purple, nearly sanguine-
the autumn covers aren’t sanguine yet bold.
The yellow tinted vogue is kitschy:
...

I.
Like a grayish translucent cloud,
like unshed invisible rains,
purple mists of your murdered desires
...

To draw black glass,
to play the hubris and sublime,
to paint with chalk of words
the expanse over.
...