“Mama, Let Me Scoop For You” –
well, that brings to mind a range of activities . . .

“Domestic Angst Enhanced by Nuns” –
another stroke of minor genius

The Lunchtime of the Poem
(the Bacon and Egg phase)

And you look out the window
At the English rain (it is Summer)

So you write a poem for your granddaughter
Who has not been born yet

Next to me sits Petr Azhunov
a hyperkinetic sprite of a man
with a ponytail and wispy beard
who is both a shaman
and an anthropologist. He takes a sip of tarasun and cannot be controlled.

I think I might go crouch in a doorway and watch people pass by.

Climbing higher than usual
We passed through different kinds of tree

We must be strict and rigorous
While around us the world gathers
And weighs new and additional data

I’m not really quite sure
But I’m fairly sure
Actually I’m very sure
But I could be wrong – But anyway I don’t care