russian novels for weary bones

the great Russian

looks over the pond

to reflect

he is his own doom

grasp out of the cellar

that strange confusion

yells in chains

the man as a worker

he sees twisty turns

tangle webs and

songs of faith

he understands the oppression

of such freedom

he knows democracy was his death

he knows pale symbolist moons

resist

dead poet-the ones who change the world

in deep hate

to portray the freedom we all crave

as newborns

crying crying

always out for scorn

but he sees we are dying

forgotten

and cradles us

the emperor is dying

2020

star signs prove the milky man

is wrong