Archive for the ‘Alone, At Sea…’ Category

Yamal, 2009 (2)



it’s not as if you have the crushing weight

of Arctic pack ice on your shoulders.

So, exhale and relax.

Viva perspective,


So says the ass

who doesn’t know

or appreciate

what you’re going through:

The pain in your brain,

the panic which consumes every

cell of your body and being,

the total torment,

so far beyond what any

nuclear-powered icebreaker

could surmount.


I understand.





In Petrograd’s embrace,

tantalized, I lose my place,

the queue is long but


I don’t care.

At peace, I look up,

staring at the sky.

I fall asleep.

Beautiful, detached sleep,

life in another realm.

Poking me with a stick,

they accuse me of falling off the wagon.

“Wagon?” I reply,

“What freaking wagon? I’m from Siberia.”




In the news today…

And forgotten tomorrow…

Everyone’s moving on…

Pain & suffering, refreshed,


a different face,

some other place.

Your blood is dried, gone.

No more tears are cried, for you.

For You…

You are expunged,



from the collective memory.

You are washed out.




The contemptible cunt has found her breadbasket,

you seem to delight in telling me,

again and again.

But I don’t want to know anymore.

Another (very) bad nosebleed before bed,

And I am drained.






Long flight eventually over,

sometime after time stopped,

after I stopped feeling…

I navigate the busy airport,

nodding appropriately at officials,

and I arrive at the “Arrivals Lounge”,

full of people waiting

for friends and loved ones…

So many people,

but none of them for me.

There’s a freedom in that.

The myriad voices dull into a numbing blur,

I walk in effective silence.




O, Katyusha,

what was (so beautiful!)

and what could have been

(more and beyond!)


like the rocket’s red glare,


in the night sky.

(O, how I wanna go back!

And forward, somehow…)

But alas,

I’m so sad,

the ship has apparently sailed.

And I am alone,

and feeling


without you.

All I can do is stare into space,

imagining that you are too.




In the darkness I scribble,

literally in the darkness,

I write.

And in the darkness

it makes perfect sense,


heartfelt compulsion.

The words are my legacy.







From Krasnodar,

she perceived the cold,

while others scoffed,

she dressed wisely.

Passage of time,

flowers wilt and die,

passage of time.

She would go to their funeral,

but she has something else (more interesting) on.




Increasingly desperate,

I flail my arms,

I push buttons.

My intentions genuine,

ardent, needy.

The results,


out of my hands.

Alas, despair…

People, systems,

no one cares!




Hey Yuliya,


yet another,




I renounce nothing,

but regret all.

Broken heart sings,

after the fall.