An unyielding fever of 103, the Sochi Olympics, and a state of inspirational semi-delirium came together as Vladimir Azarov sat in front of his television, images swirled in his mind like a waltzing kaleidoscope. Memories from decades past were triggered as the Pussy Riot girls were being whipped by Cossacks. As the 2014 Games ended, his fever abated. This remarkable book of poems arose from those two weeks.
