SPb.: Pushkin Foundation, 2001. 272 p.

CONTENTS COLLECTION OF PLAYS FOR SOLO LIFE 1978 Midnight fire, swaddled silence... Disheveled ice is being raked from the platform... The sky is raving over a bare field... Nature words of warmth are not lacking... STAR BALLAD SLOW BALLAD GENEALOGICAL BALLAD A cloud colossus was dozing on the rooftops... Go out to the stream in the evening... Carrying autumn fires... Again thunderstorms are raised with a roar... The gray kite was planning for the forest... The wind enters , celebrating years... And again, after years, without pain and anger... Separations are earnest candles... Water transport is again in favor... Hands are washed, muzzles are smooth... Hello, wind, September rake... On a bench at the edge of the park...A tender dream falls on the suburbs...As for love, I know malaria...these women in the window...Like the sky above the backwater, the heart, freeze... CIRCUS TSAREVICHNEVSKY TRIPTYCHSummer is approaching. His step is quiet...At the tobacco and wine shop...Evening is approaching, a Stakhanovite in a dark mine...I would like to write in Latin...Again fussy Copernicus...Every grain of the earth is beneath me...In the wet twilight autumn... I'll dip my mittens into the bitter snow... A quiet ringing in the blink of an eye... Reason is too harsh... The third day a person is confused... The burning contact opened in the chest... Introducing the night shift into everyday life. ..When there is a wary flock of starlings... To hell with counterpoints - tragedy is looking for the basics... Neither a face nor a voice anymore... Hollow holes in a scarlet border... STONE BALLAD A snub-nosed shadow takes the moorings... Half-living - half-playing... Fate plays as a man...HECTOR'S FAREWELL TO ANDROMACHEANDROMACHES' CRY in the side that has been rich for centuries...Better for three Siberian Years...Lived in the world there is a child's boy... Everything will be much different... 448-22-82 Why did the swallows try?.. Oh, why can’t it come true... The details of the drawing will be erased... Sing, a straw in the jaws of a rake! It would be nice to stop... And we will forget to be born and to live... Until we become hoarse, until the very dark... Glassy air, a copper moon... Under the caring skin, a longitudinal chord thickened... You see, it’s not about the regime... HEART IN A CIRCLE - “fita” in the Latin set... We were raised by the call of the copper pipe... In a foreign and unlike land... When foaming waves cover my short life... From the desert beyond the red border... Fate promised me cod jelly...Half a life put together...Clay from many years of kneading...We must scrape the floor white...Night is above us. Its places are mountainous...Behind the cemetery the land is hilly...Situation A. A man returned from a drinking binge...Not Judge me, hasty boys of childhood!..Hence it is salty or dry...For four there is untouched soap...On the ground there is empty quinoa...The speech is turned upside down. I feel the bottom with my head...In the tribunal the ax does not gather dust...On the short night of the migratory period...A cable is laid from here in May...Grozny to Kurbsky - a parcel post...For boasting, out of empty heroism...Women of the same age marry Bulgarians ...The sky with toothache...All covered in carp's fins...We will stop drinking by the fall...The earth is a trusting pile...They put thunder on the wheels...Like the sun in a heavy cloud...A tricolor memory, like let’s tie a mitten...Time is running out of ore...TO DEATH V. NABOKOVA got enough sleep, but didn’t turn on the light...why do you live when you’re not afraid...a man goes out into the field...That year there was a week without Wednesday.. .I remember the summer forest, the sunset of the copper gate...the third day we sat and let's go...thanks to those who said the word...Writing is not an easy task...I was loved by a narcologist...Abroad, in the same basement...When the words grow old...I dreamed of making friends with an owl, but, alas. ..How many years have I been breathing on borrowed time...

STATE OF SLEEP1980You will fall asleep like a ruddy child in September...I don’t change the order of things...two weeks without change...turn off the hydrant and the water is solid...from the most paradise state... like glasses of wine at a feast... when he sings on the shore... the sight of a jellyfish is indecent... in this year of respite from revelry and hunting... I also test my memory slightly... with the memory of pogroms. ..in this Rome I was not a Cato...without pretending to the depth of my mind...when the weather allows...weightlessness of the local rake...I dream of the Volga familiar sedan...early in the morning over the river...the soundless mouth of the pleroma opens his mouth...the writer is somewhere in Lithuania...as a result of Igor’s slaughter...what kind of unusual things come to mind...in the cramped oil system...while the country is under a skinny gelding...for a year now and the city is in question...what cases are in vain everywhere.. .while it doesn’t hurt the creature to worry... how serious I look... why the moon is a ruddy vegetable... tyrants mocked us... now I don’t regret anything... the invisible life of the sea... under each annual division.. .I was killed by a swift grenade...for your charms the crowd...at that time the river was too big for me...dreams return straight to my parents' roof...under the light-protective glasses...they award X a candidate's degree...the subject of observation is nature ...on the dusty plains of Nevada...Boeotia Ionia...fate was sour...when love flies into a horde...the life of a Slav is meted out...an opossum is killed on the highway...my neighbor Semyon Nikitin...paraffin steam at the mouth...when you fly across the Atlantic...to the apostles of history...the world's secretary of state senator masks...the December number frowns in the clouds...STATE OF DREAM (poem)

EDEN1985, grown up with ripples of wrinkles, removing the face...Four adults.....we built poems through force...steeper shoulders, flatter crown...people don’t believe in the truth at all...let’s look at the design of the landscape...you’ll pull it on old days... CITY, CITY, a system of rare circumpolar cities... how old I was, I asked my elders... they filed my anamnesis in albums... I remember an ashen morning... in my adolescence I was drawn to look at the dead man... a hungry sip of Nembutal... there is an oak grove in the park... SHURIK AND RIMMA to be a chemistry teacher somewhere in Yalutorovsk... oblizdat published a timely book... fractures heal instantly... you still live and smoke with all your might... a worker set solar system...square yard can of khirsa to go...air in a web of fumes...in the November chill from the canopy of the mausoleum...in the midday darkness in a terrible wind...in old age to wander and not be afraid...o mysterious mata-hari or nefertiti...from the extreme northern to the eastern extremity...local autumn along the skeleton of the area...gothic night building...mineral strata and layers of creatures...a student of chills and bewilderment...declaration of love to an ugly girl......I’m writing to you from a long time ago...the space is like the sea darkening downwards...I strained the guitar for guys my age...so I see Igor spy...it’s a problem to delay payday...a sundress on a girl embroidered...when in the evenings with family...the unique way of life of the indigenous populations...in the hollow there is a station where to take the bags...there is plenty of vodka and capelin delicious... the chimes at their zenith forged centuries... from over the world there is a greater frequency of words... the forest is so close, so the dream before dawn... speech is a toy so that all the words start with a... LOVE ROVENCHUK, who is an athlete in burners or in checkers ...it’s time to be different from people...it’s buzzing in the ruins of Rome...so some people had a soft spot for me...I would have whelped someone else, but the king pin gives way...and. P. Pavlov at least drink a weakling... why go out and argue with a tall raisin vine... SCENARIO VARIANT EXPERIENCE OF ONTOLOGY AND COSMOGRAPHY The ore of time is scarcer in its bed...

MIRABILE DICTUWATCHMAKER'S COMPLAINTS a leaf of vine and elm is closely watched.. .it is now impossible to find yourself...in the faded mirror of pain...