Love's Ship Has Foundered On The Rocks

But I, From Poetry's Skies, Plunge Into Communism, Because Without It I Feel No Love.

If You Wish, I Shall Grow Irreproachably Tender: Not A Man, But A Cloud In Trousers!

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.

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.

On The Pavement Of My Trampled Soul The Steps Of Madmen Weave The Prints Of Rude Crude Words.