as the muse turns

From Vladimir Mayakovsky's poem "A Cloud in Trousers":

You swept in abruptly like 'take it or leave it!' Mauling your suede gloves, you declared: 'D' you know, I'm getting married.' 
All right, marry then. So what, I can take it. As you see, I'm calm! Like the pulse of a corpse. 

He was perpetually in love with his muse Lilya Brik. Near the end (suicide or execution?), it's rumored she and her husband spied on him for the Soviet authorities (he was too expressive for the establishment).  

Let that soak in. 

Lilya might have spied on the guy who adored her. If so, were she and her husband coerced or threatened to do so? I don't like the feel of that. I prefer to think of that rumored betrayal as a dream/nightmare turn. As a poignant, absurd, and beautiful wounding. A just-so weird thing.

Yes! 

Things are going along in a certain and deepening manner. Then suddenly, glance and gesture change their known demeanor. The dream or life shifts into the form of a linear abyss. Known, adored glance and gesture now a stab in each eye. Confusion and vertigo! Love and its contradiction! 

As if -- he who lives too expressively and loves too deeply shall be reported to the gods of balance and correction.

1893 - 1930