Instead of odes

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.