tall building under orange clouds at daytime

I blurred at once the chart of trite routine by splashing paint with one swift motion. I showed upon a plate of brawny glutin the slanting cheekbones of the ocean Upon the scales of tinny fishes new lips summoned, though yet mute. But could you play right to the finish a nocturne on a drainpipe flute? But could you? 1913 Vladimir Mayakovsky, translated by Dorian Rottenberg