What new year? When?

Not a dumbbells on books,

but books on dumbbells; is it dumb?

Cup of cacao to fill yestereve.

Black fur, eyes yellow, climbed on my chest at the street.

BC (Bread Crust)

Between yoga and a cup of black tea are

53 beats in a minute.

'Led-glin-led-glin'

- sound of invisible woodpecker.

Electricity was cut off as a fish's head on page 347.

Stomach Coaxing Day

One satirical poem through the midnight leads to

late awakening at the morning.

Climbing on a snowy hill,

step by step, rhyme by rhyme.

Presents to a man with no finances are sacrifices.

Two sizes of bananas at one day

..but the Man who slept too long faces West in Lotus.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité among the trees in winter.

A bag of clothes instead of regular handshake.

Another brick in the chocolate wall

First sentence's been born during a rest

behind a closed door;

in a restroom.

Why are crows standing on ice so far from shore?!

Peas and acoustics - the Duo of Monday!

Uncle's Fish Day

Left knee isn't on good terms with right elbow.

"the Great Tale

about the Future Priest

and his Unsuccessful Quest

for the Aluminium Candelabrum"

Little Dread of Everlasting December.

Semi-melancholic

Are dreams of broken wayback machine überhistorisch?

Women are too talkative on Catholic Christmas.

Glass of milk,

then cup of tea,

then spoon of moonlight

and a giant bowl of hot snow!

Here's my Darling Lindenday

Thought flies to the tree

growing beside grandfather's grave.

At 8 AM composing piano piece 'bout 8 AM.

 "Friday" from "fragile".

A pair of miniatures for chamber orchestra

-12 Celsius is a chance for small breeds to prove their dignity in a golden armor!

Obvious Rumours:

Sir December dates Lady of Wednesday,

again.

Sentiments, sentiments..where're my..ah here comes the Lust!

Underday

Garlic yoga morning.

Snow under the shadows,

hill under the sun,

hearts under the snow.

85 grams

of 47%-chocolate

at 32 years

is regretfully not enough.

(Pity, there's no) God (to) Bless Mondays

Christ couldn't care less about Christmas' date.

Dogs in a snowfall, flowers on a windowsill.

Face cream for men turns bread taste

to taste of face cream for men

for everyone.

Nothing saint, except the Moon

A pair of socks, a pair of holes - the Great Balance.

Two black dragons give a hug one another after 20 years,

although they saw each other just a week ago.

Volunteer wanted: insect-exterminator; sphere: dreams-nightmares-visions.

Eggs cost higher than eggs' high cost

Unsuccessful waking up - piano melody,

successful waking up - good old squeaky draft.

"Thus walked a Dog"

- the first joke of a day.

Have prophets ever suffered from flatulence?

Soaked Flour Day

Not yoga, nor jazz.

Little rain,

Oh little rain

feeds my brittle bitter brain!

Reading about mindful economics, finishing fourth bowl of pasta.

Electronic bells

Are pigeons over my head

the 'one' with

beans in my stomach?

Bread with sugar, headache sugar-free.

Thy wish will heal.

Alt-right nostril

Yoga with runny, stuffy nose is

a pretentious conscientiousness.

First hundred steps, to the kitchen and back.

All one ever need for a male to feel wretched and miserable is

rhinorrhea.

Amen

What means a cup of liquid ginseng

and a sharpened pencil in a country

divided by preposterous war?

There's no cam in the world hidden enough

to record creation of poem.

No rush in laugh for a good day.

Nor agreements

Melancholic morning fog is less morning than melancholic.

A man and a dog are not 'the' man and 'the' dog.

Silence comes with a first raindrop.

No disagreements

Saturday writing not always should be satisfying to be defined as productive.

There are reflections of reflections in early winter puddles, yet not a single word been ever reflected!

Today's silent acceptance of poetry will be yesterdays's tomorrow.

Where did all copters of May go?

Chamber mornings are not very popular mornings, especially if they are popular in a chamber; still not during the morning hours.

Pouring myself some ginseng drink, suddenly remembered one of my bourgeois childhood's treats - bread with butter and sugar.

Milk with wine or wine with milk - shake Thy inkwell, sharpen Thy quill!