If You Wish, I Shall

My Verse Has Brought Me No Roubles To Spare: No Craftsmen Have Made Mahogany Chairs For My House.

They Stood Brow To Brow, Brown To White, Black To Black, He Supporting Her Elbows, She Playing Her Limp Light Fingers Over His Collarbone, And How He "ladored,"he Said, The Dark Aroma Of Her Hair Blending With Crushed Lily Stalks, Turkish Cigarettes And The Lassitude That Comes From "lass." "no, No, Don't," She Said, I Must Wash, Quick-quick, Ada Must Wash; But For Yet Another Immortal Moment They Stood Embraced In The Hushed Avenue, Enjoying As They Had Never Enjoyed Before, The "happy-forever" Feeling At The End Of Never-ending Fairy Tales.

Art Must Not Be Concentrated In Dead Shrines Called Museums. Lt Must Be Spread Everywhere – On The Streets, In The Trams, Factories, Workshops, And In The Workers' Homes.

Love's Ship Has Foundered On The Rocks Of Life. We're Quits: Stupid To Draw Up A List Of Mutual Sorrows, Hurts And Pains.

I Understand The Power And The Alarm Of Words - Not Those That They Applaud From Theatre-boxes, But Those Which Make Coffins Break From Bearers And On Their Four Oak Legs Walk Right Away.