Author Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky I suddenly smeared the weekday map splashing paint from a glass; On a plate of aspic I revealed the ocean's slanted cheek. On the scales of a tin fish I read the summons of new lips. And you could you perform a nocturne on a drainpipe flute? Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments