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Poetry

Odors [Kokulon]

I am chilly, nephew. I can smell the fire from the neighbor's home and hope to get its heat. Don't say that flames have no odors, they do, nephew, but only the truly cold can understand. Don't wander the marketplaces or stand before the stores. D [...]

Raspad

How can we slow time down? How can we shed rot, Raspad? Sleepless nights on the Volga coast unleash miracles. Where the eye relied on the droughty steppe for mercy, there, in swirling mist, the haystack of revolution rises. In distant granaries a [...]

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