Текст песни Иосиф Бродский - Звуки Речи - Зимним вечером в Ялте

Dry Levantine person
ospinki hide in tanks,
when he was looking for cigarettes in a pack
ring on the ring dim
suddenly breaks hundred watts,
and my lens flare can not stand;
I'm squinting - and then he says,
swallowing the smoke at the same time, & quot; fault & quot ;.

January in the Crimea. On the Black Sea Breg
Winter comes, as it were for fun:
unable to keep the snow
on the blades and the island Atava.
Let the restaurant. Smoke
ichthyosaurs dirty on the roads,
laurels and rotten heard flavor.
& Quot; pour you this abomination? & Quot; & Quot; & quot ;. Pour

So - smile, twilight, decanter.
Away bartender, clutching hands,
gives the following as a young dolphin
around anchovy filled feluccas.
Square window. In pots - wallflower.
Snowflakes, passing by ...
Stop the Moment! You're not so
well, how are you unique.