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From: Mayakovsky
Category: Other stuff
Date: 10 July 2004
Your thought,
musing on a sodden brain
like a bloated lackey on a greasy couch,
I'll taunt with a bloody morsel of heart;
and satiate my insolent,caustic contempt.
No gray hairs streak my soul,
no grandfatherly fondness there!
I shake the world with the might of my voice,
and walk - handsome,
twentytwoyearold.
first two verses translated from Russian by Max Hayward.
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