MAYAKOVSKY

Not yet with memorized
poetry in a silver age
by adoring crowds
he is a back alley- wise
Russian genius
yet stays away
from proud groupies
hovering by him in his city
those neither clever or boring
like Jesus among Sadducees
sings solo in his own chorus,
yet for us who arn't
Phillistines or Pharisees
raps from his own page,
never picks up his friends
along super highway 66
yet favors the lost of Styx
rarely among the Squares
tossed like gum wrappers
in winking asides
without airs,
nor falling for the lies
of any poetic school
even from his darkest muse,
poor Mayakovsky
has his own golden rule,
with only one life to lose
not following Pushkin
with his Orphic law
he is in a Sapphic awe
as a new created Beat,
pretending a tiny smile
to be in exile on the street
like hairy unbowed Esau
or among now Jacobin Jews
he is always thinking
his way out of every
sink hole of darkness
sent down his solo way,
a man with tired feet
answering nyet with yes
you may even have met
him on the Arbat
or in Manhattan today.