Читать книгу Русский паркур / Russian parkour - Евгений Типайлов - Страница 31

Material thoughts,

Words hurt more than swords,

Irrational things

Between myself and me.

I boil and smolder

At someone’s cold shoulder,

Or I get a chill:

Indifference kills.

I’ll shave off my hair

And shout ‘hurray’.

I’ll hunt the ideal,

My aim is unreal.

I’ll go for a run

To Petersburg sun.

I’ll reach the unknown,

I’ll dial a phone,

‘Mount Athos, over!’

I’m a restless rover.

I puzzle my friends,

But frankly, who cares?

An innate unrest

That won’t be suppressed.

An urge to connect

To world architect.

In my pocket lies

A snuffbox of lines;

Snapped in my smile —

A roll-up of rhymes.