Akhmatova At The News Of Vladimir Mayakovsky, Dramatist Poem by Leialoha Apo Perkins

Shot! Shot yourself!
Body punctured! Lumped! Limp! Gone!
Snapped! Life derring diddle doo!
What could a bullet, cosmos
Riddling – going, sure thing, do
Blood suckered stopped drained

Racing voids
That glastnost brain Star stirred, hung out,
Shaved salad iced to toast
The pierced screaming through in port
Danced Once dreamed sang lullabyes

Do not speak? Paper pale Piping, Veined,
The End came walking the Dance looped
Mouth O! Hear! Listening is Wind/Rain, /Sun
Who stakes high: the poet of Russ! Strike!
The band! Heads high! Chests out! Who says
Widows only ask last questions? Heirs are who?
Like you once in the Black Forest We now know
What! What! O my bearded poet on the cusp
Russia! Russia!

O the heart splits
The Abyss drops The rains faceless, pall,
Over the vast, panoramic plains where all see Chance,
Macabre, dance, wicked in its own Space/Time thrall
Now mastering us, overwhelmed by your high jinks
Spirit, the gambling eye, the drink, the gall of it all.