Benoît Pioulard - Initial B.P.

The Very Edge of Its Flame

The Gilded Fear That Guides the Flow

Is in Its Clearest Form

So Etched in Memory

Of Everything That Rhymes

An Image Apart from Ourselves

And Relent

With No Advantage

As Would a Weaver

Anchor as the Muse

That Wounded Weathered

A Shade of Celadon

Under the Break Arch

Whose Palms Create

Shut-Ins on Sunday See

Можно я с тобой

Прыгну со скалы

МАЛИНОВАЯ ЛАДА

Никто

Кукла колдуна

По барам

Где прошла ты

Komarovo

Marmalade

Седая ночь

Хищница

Лесник

Девочка, танцуй

Rampampam

Мёртвый Анархист