Я вкушаю за трапезой с небом Этот черствый...

I eat at a meal with heaven
This stale hunk of October
From an autumn loaf of bread.
I'm drinking a glass of rain
Talking about the leaves of the dead
That covered the land lot,
And that all cherries are harvested -
Now the hands were left without work.
In this tablecloth the drop has dried
My pity is burgundy.
Gloomy air colored with ocher
Places a frozen cordon.
We got a quiet table outside the Moscow Ring Road,
And the company of gray skies
In a minor calm mode
Silence progress.
We sit by the swamps of awareness
Among the pines soaring up
Where did he go to summer-exile
A Siberian Crane flying in the distance without Putin.
The cradles are shattered by the fumes,
That he killed all his mothers.
Into this whirlpool of concrete cascades
He threw the match. Capital, warm up!
Well, I'll continue to eat here
And, admiring the one who was called, he fell,
Cleansing stinking souls
I will feel how tired I am.
Autumn is getting warmer
From the lights of flared Moscow.
My sky will rise with a toast
For fans of withered foliage.
And we with him, who continued to drink,
Along the autumn feasts of the forests
Here we taste the alarms of all oatmeal
And the craziest pilaf of depression.
I will remember this holiday for a long time:
We burned the cities great!
Since even the dirtiest Volga
Will never put out the fire.
We finished at eight sharp
And silently rushed outside -
In this every new fall
We dream of starting in the spring.
10/07/2017 lostgenius