All original work © 2009 - 2017 Alexey Provolotsky

11 March 2017


Your first HitchcockOr Hitch. Or Hitchcock.

A creepy thought, a wriggling insect.

You cannot move your virgin eyelids.

And all these people... Faces sodden

With tears unwept and words unwhispered,

They come from dreams, they come from nightmares,

Although, in fact, they come from pavements

And city streets, and parks, and alleys,

And even chimneys done with presents.

The dizzy spell, the rope, the frenzy,

They come as if through mist or madness.

They're beautiful, but they are deadly

Unlike your face, unlike your breakfast.

The glass is shattered and asunder

The shards torment your past and present. 

A woman screaming, nun approaching. 

No breathing space, you run downstairs

Where there is no one, talking silence

To loves, to hates, to rains, to sunshines,

And through the blood that tastes like water,

Another go, redeeming rerack. 

A second chance. First love. First Hitchcock.