Benoît Pioulard - Whose Palms Create

The Very Edge of Its Flame

Of Everything That Rhymes

Under the Break Arch

Shut-Ins on Sunday See

Initial B.P.

An Image Apart from Ourselves

So Etched in Memory

The Gilded Fear That Guides the Flow

That Wounded Weathered

Anchor as the Muse

And Relent

As Would a Weaver

Is in Its Clearest Form

A Shade of Celadon

With No Advantage

Rampampam

Девочка бандитка

Где прошла ты

МАЛИНОВАЯ ЛАДА

Снежинки

Алёшка

Лесник

По барам

Komarovo

Black Samurai

Хищница

Пьяный туман

Можно я с тобой

Прыгну со скалы

Пошла жара