Tag Archives: Ivan Peledov

Queasy

Rays of light are the favorite food of mice, even those broken by time. Sunsets don’t ask permission for licking the walls, the hair of shadowless joggers. Nonexistent graffiti contaminates every surface, shopping bags irritate the wind. The above is … Continue reading

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Growing Feathers

I have no idea how much birds hate the islands in the air, how long they are going to peck at the freight cars brimming with sky. The cracks in the pavement are too thin to be filled with it, … Continue reading

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I Still Remember Those Sundays

Grandfather ran away from the collective farm to the land of White Waters but stopped in Moscow to drink a bottle of vodka. He didn’t realize that bottle was manufactured by squirrels out of a long-forgotten rotten moon, although it … Continue reading

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O

What matters is the distance between the moon and the throat. Or the saxophone. Or the basement where the mice frolic. Or just the hole in the ground. The owls usually read memoirs of distinguished rabbits after a late supper. … Continue reading

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Taking Form

Mirrors just hide their favorite images from the grass of the sky. Holy shit is forever beyond the grasp of the righteous and the worthy. Take a look at a bird. How many flaps of the wings can you bear? … Continue reading

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Passing Through

Dust is sweet like the poetry of stray dogs in Podunk towns, it fills the streets with the laughter of ghosts from unsung continents. Sometimes the trees tear them apart just for fun, other times we inhale clouds and get … Continue reading

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Flat Earth Delights

We have left our souls to dry on yesterday’s sun. Let the flies and the monsters of the air enjoy them. Broken wings and umbrellas contaminate the sky, but the earth is an endless book if you know how to … Continue reading

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Holy Noise

A conversation between sacred mountains can’t wake up the monsters of the lakes. The sound of typing at the bottom of the sky fills the universe with disgust, birds with laughter on the other side of the Sun, on this … Continue reading

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Afternoons

On weekday afternoons bears repose in the backyards drowsily communicating with deities whose appearance is far from being hip and jazzy. Everyone is silent: squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, birds, winds, insects, reptiles, guinea pigs, spirits of tap water. A few drunk … Continue reading

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Kindred Spirits

It’s the laughter of tipsy spiders swaying in invisible rain, that scorches the corners of the earth when mornings turn into dust. Overexcited ants measure the winds, butterflies eat birds in the infinite rooms no one rents, frogs on the … Continue reading

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Snow

Each silence you hear is lost in history. Each sound is dead like the fish you ate When animals were just inventing wine. Children laugh like butterflies devoured by squirrels in the snow. Ivan Peledov is a poet now living … Continue reading

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Home

Aliens are playing with rabbits on the roof And the tap water has iridescent holes the size of my head. No one is able to steal the Sun. The house as a whole is real and hot like an awkward … Continue reading

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Vowels

Aren’t you tired of speaking the language of forgotten wars and vacated prisons where raccoons and coyotes celebrate their birthdays for centuries? Any word they say ends with a thousand vowels. Ivan Peledov is a poet now living in Colorado. … Continue reading

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Grateful

The angels are the mud of the sky. Towers hide from the gibbering pilots Of flying barracks, making the soul grateful for Being torn apart. Let the dust rejoice under the paws of Angry dogs chained to the clouds. Ivan … Continue reading

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Roses

The past reappears when words Slowly turn into laughter, At night when we don’t dream, surrounded by Silent pillows and loudspeakers, When bread is stale like emerald roses, Skyware born of inedible freaks. Ivan Peledov is a poet now living … Continue reading

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Prayers

Let the birds swim, let the Earthworms wallow in The beauty of unanswered prayers. Ivan Peledov is a poet now living in Colorado. He likes to travel and to forget the places he has visited later. He has been recently … Continue reading

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At

The old here, at least some of them become, One by one, the ultimate songs of the forests. They leave their teeth, hair and silence outside. There is nothing like eating extra sunsets, they would tell you. Sunrays twist around … Continue reading

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Tails

The gods might be dead, but the offspring leave thousands of fingerprints On the waves of forbidden seas. They listen to the frogs hidden in petrified grass, To the entrails of the tumuli desecrated by coyotes. They bullshit incessantly like … Continue reading

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Grass

In the morning birds don’t remember the silent Corners of heavens they visited in the dark, The smell of the footsteps they have eaten and black Sunlight beneath the withered grass. Ivan Peledov is a poet now living in Colorado. … Continue reading

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so i climbed down a wrought-iron fence…

so i climbed down a wrought-iron fence in hope to see stones in books, books in stones with three cigarettes smoldering between the fingers countless mothers of tobacco gawked at me from below so i climbed down a fence between … Continue reading

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someone at a submarine station mumbles…

someone at a submarine station mumbles stumbles drinks walls and benches for chants and hogwash to take effect prophets bury themselves in iron oceans a woman continues to sing losing syllables carefully losing syllables on the other side of a … Continue reading

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now let’s daydream of white beetles…

now let’s daydream of white beetles and red dogs gnawing hooves of winos winos fail to embrace hot marble geese sink into whiteboards and pockets of red soldiers gnawing tongues of hermits let all the trumpets and rubber boots consume … Continue reading

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vasetrack

cyclists shed the spokes children enter trees behind the whisper of one-legged parachutists and smell of unuttered prayers sounds drown in trumpets and burrows blind waiters die in the dreams of a shy nanny goat my inner sophocles is sawing … Continue reading

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