238 ‘Vladimir Mayakovsky’ and Other Poems Port
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Summer tumbled to its halfway point
The bed-sheet water under the boat’s belly
The boughs of the pine trees
The desperate wind vainly
The gloomy rain glanced
The moon will rise
The Poet Worker
The shy girl clothed herself in swampy muck
The snow is melted into drool
The Witching Hour...
The witching hour by now you must be asleep
They Just Don’t Get It
They shout at a poet
They’re still dragging out, the old duffer brigades
This was no nonsense from the beyond
To Comrade Nette
To His Own Self, with Affection, the Author Dedicates These Lines 73 To Lily, Instead of a Letter 66 To Russia 75 To Sergei Yesenin 165 To you 88 Tobacco smoke ate up the air 66 Two Berlins 147
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