…and when "the future" is uttered, swarms of micerush out of the Russian language and gnaw a pieceof ripened memory which is twice as hole-ridden as real cheese.
After all these years it hardly matters whoor what stands in the corner, hidden by heavy drapes,and your mind resounds not with a seraphic "doh",only their rustle.
Life, that no one daresto appraise, like that gift horse's mouth,bares its teeth in a grin at eachencounter.
What gets left of a man amountsto a part.
To his spoken part.
To a part of speech.
Translated by
Anonymous submission.
