Vera

(in which igor practices his american
 In the form of notes to his wife)
 Oh vera i can't complain but
 When, when will you write?
 This city is strange
 And strangely bright
 Sooner or later i'll change
 Oh vera my cough is silent
 And Sunset is setting up fine
 There's work for me here
 And here is my work
 While we wait for my lungs to dry
 Oh vera tonight i'm lost
 What makes me live for this craft?
 I'm going nowhere
 My music's a bust
 Even our neighbors just laugh
 Oh vera we must see a film
 I think that it might change my life
 Something with garland
 Who's down on her luck
 The kind of picture i like
 Oh vera i'm full of it now
 Who knew that notes could be fun?
 I'm counting to 12 and
 Then back to one
 I feel i'm a writer again
 Oh vera i'm truly content
 I'm waiting alone for a friend
 A helluva poet
 A hollywood type
 Who turns up the words on their end
 Oh vera i'm reading the news
 I can do nothing but cry
 The opera was summer
 An apple just fell
 It's funny how well poets lie.