{"id":1145,"date":"2011-06-30T02:51:20","date_gmt":"2011-06-30T02:51:20","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1145"},"modified":"2011-06-30T12:43:13","modified_gmt":"2011-06-30T12:43:13","slug":"nicholay-syrov-611","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/nicholay-syrov-611\/","title":{"rendered":"Nicholay Syrov, 7\/11"},"content":{"rendered":"

Fruit <\/strong><\/p>\n

Let me study your features and contours
\nAs I want to become a proper place where
\nYour shadow will fall and rest.
\nThe ignited fear trickles into my
\nDwindling inside but I still comb through
\nThe cookie-cutter buildings looking for you.
\nA deranged misfit, I delve in the arid air
\nTrying to find your fragrance. I constantly
\nCry and put people off.<\/p>\n

My eyes
\nAre veiled
\nWith saturnine red
\nVigilant sun
\nTumbles
\nMulti-tiered
\nNoise of the
\nCity
\nSounds like
\nRecitation
\nVan-driver
\nRises his
\nIndex
\nFinger to the
\nHalved sky<\/p>\n

His virtuous face is a face of a psychopomp.
\nI see something maternal in it. After all,
\nWhat is that fruit that I hanker
\nAfter
\nDay
\nAfter
\nDay
\nAfter
\nDay.<\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

Petulant child<\/strong><\/p>\n

Mom asks me what it\u2019s like and I tell her that<\/p>\n

I hear stinging satire and those who\u2019d mixed up
\nThe end of the world with a punchline of soap-box orgy,
\nI see no-win attempts and heroes moving to
\nSalubrious climate, I see zoned out people,
\nCredulous fools, phony prophets, torpid puppets,
\nVirulent rabble-rousers tapering off antidepressants,
\nConscientious objectors put on disposable leashes,
\nI see troughs full of saccharine dung and tinsel,
\nFilmmakers looking through the napkin-ring
\nAt a grimy earth skewered by steel-rimmed sprigs,
\nI see drabness and dizzying pirouettes from
\nExhortations to agreed obliquity,
\nI see chequered past being boiled down to
\nInexorable course of history and distorted faces of
\nThose whose rare protests look like frenetic top-loftiness,
\nI see myself somewhere in the lost point of the
\nAs-yet unnamed decade of shoddy laudation.
\nWe do our chores knee-deep in blood. I see it now.
\nIt has always been noted in well-groomed parentheses.<\/p>\n

Mom cooks and dresses plates. She doesn\u2019t listen.
\nI understand that I did not say a word.<\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

Winter <\/strong><\/p>\n

The city in winter
\nGrudgingly takes on
\nThe cassock,
\nAlthough it still has
\nNothing to do with
\nEdifying infallibility
\nAnd keeps its profligate
\nAnd gauche breath
\nAt long nights.<\/p>\n

Bundled up people
\nFlail around as if
\nAt rummage sale.
\nOld men share parochial
\nViews near the fires
\nAnd youth bears them
\nOut without giving
\nA thought to.<\/p>\n

Legs are enticed into
\nAt-oneness of footprints
\nAnd cannot escape.
\nLavishly enrobed
\nBuildings look smaller
\nAnd waiters serve
\nWith unsettling brevity.<\/p>\n

I seem to elude myself.
\nThe snow nestles on
\nMy shoulders and
\nHaggard face without
\nPermission.
\nI conjure up visions
\nOf the past.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fruit Let me study your features and contours As I want to become a proper place where Your shadow will fall and rest. The ignited fear trickles into my Dwindling inside but I still comb through The cookie-cutter buildings looking for you. A deranged misfit, I delve in the arid air Trying to find your […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1145","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nNicholay Syrov, 7\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/nicholay-syrov-611\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Nicholay Syrov, 7\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Fruit Let me study your features and contours As I want to become a proper place where Your shadow will fall and rest. The ignited fear trickles into my Dwindling inside but I still comb through The cookie-cutter buildings looking for you. 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The ignited fear trickles into my Dwindling inside but I still comb through The cookie-cutter buildings looking for you. 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