How to make do with the life of an eccentric,
That every day for a small fee
Lettings over the roar of the abyss attic
Potsdam spešaŝemu sunset?
He puts a rose with mignonette
The swirling on a mile basket,
Where semaphores arguing beauty
With snow dalyu, smelling gasoline.
In the hands of roofs, in pipes, in nedotroh
not twilight, – pencils for make-up.
There escaping from the darkness, underground
Lump grimaces flies on the wings of smoke.
30 January 1923