Book: Flying fish

For someone life is,
And for someone to be deducted, -
I wrote an old friend,
And I didn't answer.

Kids like a little clock, Wake up
And awake all morning.

How many important
The books,
I don't know how to read.

How did it get
These weaknesses of the stronger sex.

Again forgot why he was born.

Tired of reading "Oblomov"
And expect women of good weather
Tired of being soft, delicate, unnecessary,
Tired of living in the city
Where the authorities are afraid of snow
And traffic cops greet
With expensive cars.
Tired of being an adult
Who knows
But nothing can.

Live stage in our city
Died a long time ago.
Now I have everything,
But few things I want.
And I walk a stray dog
In the old Park,
And collect airborne debris time,
Where I had nothing,
But it was.

Dark blue night
Swaddled me in a dream
Wings books
Thoughts of fish
Whisper about you.

Let the soul to bask,
And he in dirty shoes.

The air smelled of the sun
And young men
It was stupid to spend
The body on fitness clubs.
And her lips on cigarettes.
I just wanted to cuddle
To something native unknown
And turn into summer.

Wanted to get out of the house without money.
- Did not happen.

Still want to meet in the spring
a real friend
Who doesn't have seven home
Who knows not to think about money,
Which you can drink water from the tap.
And, of course, we won't drink water from the tap,
But more on that later.
First, we will swallow eyes
The spring sun
And avitaminous-beautiful women
Because they missed us
Young, beautiful, middle-aged,
Which all on the shoulder and even lower
I'm afraid that in life only one thing - boredom.

Life is when all are included.

Spring woke drippings outside the window.
I had to get up and run in the yard.
And worn all day in puddles,
And wet feet,
And getting throat
And a whole week not to go to school
To all you jealous.
He boldly stood up
And found in the corridor youngest daughter,
Which slyly pulled the rubber boots.