How to Become Poplar on Medium

Andrey Anisimov
Sep 23 · 1 min read
View from Andrew’s house © Shmexels

Fresh air on my balcony
Renders my gloom obsolete.
I watch the sun roll
Out of the yogurt of dawn.

The clouds are as vague
As curation guidelines.
A hobo’s just clapped his face
Against the road he was walking.

And suddenly I understood:
I‘m done recycling stale articles.
My raw inspiration is fresh
Like the brisk morning wind
I just broke.


No Crime in Rhymin’

poetry that dares to be funny, edgy, irreverent

Andrey Anisimov

Written by

a frolic dissident

No Crime in Rhymin’

poetry that dares to be funny, edgy, irreverent

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