Baby

The Lord is cold-blooded, nothing will touch him -

blasphemy with praise, he will close an unbreakable ring.

because the world before him is like an aged baby

with a naive wrinkled, spotted pigment, face.

the baby-old man is unscrupulous, puffed up and red,

I'm ready to cry, I'm going to get my clothes dirty in the mud ...

blah with praise - a ring made from children's plastic -

God tosses the world: on, baby, do not cry, bite.

and the world is gleefully gnawing, smiling toothlessly -

then he falls asleep, blowing bubbles in his sleep,

not knowing that, even though said a few ... rude,

he too is a toy.

Well, peace, rest.

before dawn.