Instead of odes

in literature •  6 years ago 

I would like to
you
glorify
in an inspired dress,
only an ode
something does not come out.
How many ideals
death in the kitchen
and under the blanket!
My friend -
woman as a woman,
deaf
from the primus of panting
and bob,
a Soviet woman,
in the registry office,
most advanced
in the common kitchen.
She keeps it
in best-in-stock warehouses
marriage
with a guy of average height;
not yet a party member,
but already a candidate,
the most beautiful
from local letter-carriers.
The woman is angry,
seen immediately,
because the cohabitee
a huge bruise
in addition to the eye
put,
coming from drinking.
And it hisses,
drove her husband out:

  • I
    him
    I will show the Soviet law!
    I will wash only
    the last of the dishes -
    and directly to the police,
    directly to the court ... -
    Wasting.
    Before taking
    the last frontier
    a bell
    in the kitchen
    crumbled, rattled.
    Has opened.
    Millions of buds bloomed,
    dried up
    in spring
    teardrop puddle ...
    "His handwriting!"
    letter from her husband. -
    The letter is red-hot -
    does not write,
    but it is flickering.
    "You are my darling,
    and the angel
    you.
    Forgive me generously!
    I'll be quieter
    water
    and below the grass. "
    The eye was gaping,
    sagging on one side.
    The word affectionate -
    master
    marvelous divas.
    And again
    for the primus of a woman,
    having understood everything
    and all having forgiven.
    And already
    companion's circular
    for a new skirt
    on the streets are worn;
    untwisting the language
    florid ribbon,
    whispers
    some
    courted by Faith:
  • I'm for positiveness
    and against incidents,
    which
    harm
    career career. -
    Week of rest,
    but more
    no way
    not live
    without a mat and a bruise.
    A week -
    and again there is no happiness,
    zadravshis,
    barely stayed in the pub ...
    Here it is -
    family
    Perpetuum

mobile »

.

And again
conversations,

and the court, and "third"

for many hours
and weeks,
and there is no determination
reconsider
family annoyance.
I
pompous words
the eternal enemy,
and, without spreading odes
by the eighth of March,
I want,
to end
such a cross between fights,
drunkenness,
lies,
romance
and mat.
1927

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.

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