A ballad? About the full stop? The deadly pill?
You have forgotten the bulled that felled Pushkin
And the winds whistling, as thous clarinets’ holes,
Through the perforated heads of our best poets.
Having pierced, like an arrow, conceit and swinish,
The trajectory of that whistle reached the descendants.
There was no stop. But there was the beginning.
We descend into the earth, as into the gate of railroad station.
And the dot of the tunnel is black like the muzzle of a gun...
Does it lead to immortality?
Or into the unknown?...
There is no death.Nor a stop. There is the bullet path-
The second projection of the same straight line.
The full stop is absent in nature accoding to calculations.
We shall be immortals.
And that is the truth.