We come clean

Андрей Тюков
Water washes down clean.
Bright's the cleaning machine,
it never stops grinding.

These feet won't walk.
They are clean.
Up in a white
searchlight dome
lowering like some hawk
on the bedside, alone,

here comes
the resque.

These eyes won't see.
They are clean.
These hands won't feel.
Made of plastic and steel,
on the scene
comes the modern machine,

comes
the reckoning.

Put a seal
on the memory card.

It is empty.

On a line that's too thin
we go down, we go in.
Not a soul in between,
holding hands, we come clean,

here we come,
and you, too...


20 июня 2016 г.