Читать книгу Fancy Beasts - Alex Lemon - Страница 8

being here

Listless blight, safe words, every little

Sound in the night is a gasp—bone tip

Blossoming through skin. It’s no

Bull, man. Anymore, we’re all winners

& afraid to pull these faces off.

Maple leaves & plastic bags somersault

Through the park. One cloud

Grips the moon. Call me anything

Before morning comes, little lover,

Because it’s true & doesn’t fucking matter.

Kill the lights. Feel the burn. Rev yourself

Up & sing along with the good thrum

Found in everything. Hang around

Until the end. Melt my ashes on your tongue.