Vlad Pogorelov: April 2020

Being low on inspiration in the middle of the train station
Trying to find a decent rhyme or the place to go
Feeling very cheap like an amateur with a third class ticket

Isn't it a crime, a very major crime of nature
When you're subjected to not being able to find a
Rhyme or a decent woman?

But fuck the nature! Let's break this glass wall!
Go outside, be artificial but independent
And vice versa...Do you still like the verse?
In the meantime returning to the original style:
- Shut up and smile.

Nothing helps better than looking at polyester shirts,
Clear plastic skirts, synthetics and vinyl
Aluminum in the form of foil paper
Or listening to your last words:
- See ya later
When you don't mean it.

Paper, another artificial object. Nailing words to it,
Letting them dry and being absorbed
Feeling like a medieval knight holding his medieval sword,
Killing enemies,
Splashing blood just like ink, when the ink is just like blood

God! God! God! And the Virgin Mary. Here is the letter:
Dear Mary! Would you love me, would you fuck me?
I'll be very gentle, very caring.
I'll treat you nice, Mary. I am not exactly from Palestine,
But please, do not hesitate
To accept some very valuable foreign aid in the form of a 
Smile.

And Mary's telegram says:
Wait! You're not a carpenter, you're a poet.
So go fuck your Muse or your mom.
The end of the telegram.

My reply: Dear Mary! Thank you for the advice.
Still want to fuck you. Love you very, very.

And back to the train station.
Where would I go without an inspiration,
Without a rhyme or a decent woman?
New York? Moscow? Near past? Distant future?
After all, the crime is becoming a punishment
When you try to cut your soul open.


c. Vlad Pogorelov

At the Train Station was originally included in the 1997 print chapbook Derelict, from Repossessed Head Press.