I'm sad I'm not a beast...

*After the poem of the same name by Alexander Vvedensky* I’m sad I’m not a beast



asprint down some blue lane



whispering confidences to my



 



       self : let’s wait a little



       we’ll go walk in the woods with you



       to gawk at the paltry leaves



 



I wish I were a star



running seeking that one nest



to drown in – none



could hear that star making creakings



to embolden the silence of fish



 



       I have a complaint



       : I’m not a rug , nor a hydrangea



 



I’m sad I’m not a roof



falling – little by little – in



for whom death is only a moment



wet with rain



 



       I dislike that I’m mortal



       I’m sad I’m inexact



 



I’m sad I’m not a chalice



I hate that I’m not pity



I’m not even a copse



that sheathes itself with leaves



 



       It’s hard to be with the minutes



       Who have wasted me so badly



 



       It’s terribly offensive to me



       That I’m visible currently



 



It’s awful to me that I move



not at all like a worm



The worm rips burrows into



the earth and plants conversations



 



       Earth , where are your works



 



the cold worm says to her



and Earth , disposing of the dead



, keeps quiet



 



       ( she knows it’s not like that )



 



I’m scared I have before me



two identical things



I don’t see how they’re different



how each one lives , independent



 



I’m scared I have before me



two identical things



I don’t see how eager they are



to look like one another



 



       We’re sitting with you , wind



       atop this deathly pebble



 



and here , at the tip of the letter



I put down the word *box*



I set *box* in its place



: its substance is thick dough



 



       I don’t like that I’m mortal



       I’m sad I’m inexact



 



       I still have a complaint



       : I’m not a rug , nor a hydrangea



 



we’ll go walk in the woods with you



to gawk at the paltry leaves . . .



I’m sad that on those leaves



I won’t see the unnoticed words



 



       called : instance , called : immortality



       called : view from the beginning



 



I’m scared I’m not an eagle



I’m sad I’m not a seed



The worm crawls over all



He bears monotony



 



I’m scared that I’m unknown



I’m sorry I’m not flame