In search of the miraculous

kvetchlandia:

Any man born is entitled to love,

but what with jobs,

incomes,

and other such things,

the heart’s core grows harder

from day to day.

The heart wears a body;

the body-a shirt.

Even that’s not enough!

Someone-

the idiot!-

manufactured stiff cuffs

and clamped starch on the chest.

Aging, people suddenly have second thoughts.

Women rub in powder and rouge.

Men do cartwheels according to Müller’s system.

But it’s too late.

The skin abounds in wrinkles.

Love flowers,

and flowers

and then withers and shrinks.—

Vladimir Mayakovsky, “I Love: Usually So”

(via deactiavtedhookedonsemiotics)