I'm Schrodinger of cat,
If that
You are/aren't reading this baloney.
How lonely
Words with no rhyme,
Rhythm tears up time
To foam, so dim and phoney.
I'm Dowell of the head.
So sad -
It's not for me to understand the written,
Which split in
The sparkling plot
And ending dot,
From glorious to hidden.
I'm Sannikov of land.
My hand
Is drawing unexisting places.
The faces
Of passing by,
Like flashing light,
Are melting with no traces.
I'm Mobius of strip.
The heap
Of stories always leads to one origin.
The scission
Of worlds and words
Drives dreams like herds
To reach the definition.
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