By Aleksey Porvin 1
It seems so far from whence it came, its two inscriptions barely made out by the eye at night — a vague sign on an avenue, hanging above the
By Andrei Sen-Senkov
00 – 00 In a black-walled museum a painting conceived. Its flowers grow with subtitles for those who don’t believe in Kandinsky’s botany.
Snow within
by Anzhelina Polonskaya But should they say that snow has fallen . . . Snow on the black battlements on the sidewalks that scream with the voices