Morning – Vladimir Mayakovsky

Gloomy rain squinted my eyes.
And for
lattice
clear
iron thought of wires -
featherbed.
And on
her
rising stars
legs leaned lightly.
But they -
lanterns,
kings
in the crown of gas,
for the eye
made it hurt
a feuding bouquet of tabloid prostitutes.
And creepy
jokes.
pecking laughter -
from yellow
poisonous roses
increased
zigzag.
For gam
and horror
take a look
pleasing to the eye:
slave
crosses
suffering-calm-indifferent,
grave
houses
public
the east threw into one flaming vase.

[1912]

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