Konstantin

Sometimes I feel like Levin

In a room of aristocrats

Electing things 

Like power and control

Pasted on men’s faces

Along for the party

But more comfortable 

With the servants in the next room

And at the matinee 

The programme music

Is like noise 

Against my pastoral equilibrium

Trying so hard to be lofty

When the muzhiks 

Have been sleeping there

For generations

 

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