Жарил в ухо, горло, нос, Сразу видно кто есть Ху, А вы, зая, пылесос, Принимайте юху-ху. Рукоплещу вам пальцАми, Обезумел, разогнал, Эй, куда же ты с концами, Разряжаешь арсенал?
Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2024 (c). Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.
This poem is a rhythmic ode to ****** boldness. Here, the body isn’t an object — it’s a tool of action, a stage, a force, and a source of humor. There is no shame — only tempo, aggression, thrill, and pleasure. It’s the right to feel and express oneself, even through grotesque, even through excess. Because the body, too, is a subject.