i want
to breath
that blank
russian air again
want to dwarf myself
in eternal foyers
too brown
to echo
want to smell the diesel
melt the snow
in
the
imposition streets
want to see
the grey domino
city scrape
thru
the
bad glass
twentieth floor
windows
over a river
gone solid
where no one skates
and count those copper tubes again
in
the
airport
as
i
leave again
but that was gorbys days
and i was western air
supervised around
that
strange flipside
of
cold war freeze
russias calling-
its price chalked
on the soles
of its awkward
evening shoes
from russia.countrypictures.in
