The words, who cares? They're rote noises to hold line bashes with, to get past the bone barriers around an actor's memory..

And eyes shine like candles at night

The viola is a ghost, grainy-brown, translucent, sighing in and out of the other Voices.

..

I know there is wilde love and joy enough in the world

waiting for the message

dreaming fishes

When he was a little boy, back in Leningrad, Tchitcherine’s mother sewed by hand a costume for him to wear in a school entertainment...

.. Tchitcherine was the wolf. The minute he put on the head, in front of the mirror by the ikon, he knew himself. He was the wolf.

pornographic courier's tragedy

3 - listen (..) to bombs above in the streets