Pink Dawn

Pink dawn sparkled matches’ heads
vines entwined: kites along the aqueduct of clouds
drops in worlds exploded silent on freighters
flashed traffic lights cigarette in an instant
scattered dusk, millions of people simultaneously
scored a lighter, echoed the Russian bard songs
kettles, guitars, sticks, ate rice for a while before
the only meal of the day in poor times, songs
all were small, but fulfilled, modest, but filled
w/ the afterglow of distant dawn - kiss starless zones
belts spilled milk on the thigh smokers
wrapped in a naive unification
awakened with the rest of the population, it has retained
a certain sexiness
actresses of the silent era, and her thigh rub the snout
hunched, blackened beast that shakes no longer
dark tambourine, took our rhythm, ragged beards
uncomplimentary to the masses of religion, are only waiting until the author
will blow the trumpet, to  leave the cemetery dressed in velvet
new paintings in the morning, with bandannas of proverbs
on the hips, looping in his personal odyssey
everyone is hungry and meek, but certainly not dead
heart beat, and draws the singing throats, cheerful
cry of freedom, words omitted
written in the chronicles of life, for fear of
internal censor, canon rhythm
but now all these people, the absolute cannon
stare at the crematorium ideas
sadly, beneath them, the only place that have not rubbed against the sun,
the aforementioned beast, there is real insanity
adequate space occupied, and millions of peoples sighed
with panoramic relief when the roles reversed
smoker burst out in laughter, improved hair
and peered into the bedroom where the Messiah is revealed
in an undertone
playing guitar, and frankly even she, desired
angel of the masses, failed to break his gaze
songbook eons of tiger skin spread over
at the foot of a young musician, orchestra resounded in the background
and wild tribal drums, attracted by India, he wept
Pacific, but no one could hear the notes
hummed by the chosen one: everything sings
and so it was repeated - repeated staring at the moon
in her lover, and he, staring at your woman
shrugged and went make-up
an oil lamp was still burning, but everywhere crowded sun
baby pink light of dawn
pagan thread universes
angels standing at the threshold
collected from all lifetimes