Читать книгу The Lichtenberg Figures - Ben Lerner - Страница 6

The dark collects our empties, empties our ashtrays.

Did you mean “this could go on forever” in a good way?

Up in the fragrant rafters, moths seek out a finer dust.

Please feel free to cue or cut

the lights. Along the order of magnitudes, a glyph,

portable, narrow—Damn. I’ve lost it. But its shadow. Cast

in the long run. As the dark touches us up.

Earlier you asked if I would enter the data like a room, well,

either the sun has begun to burn

its manuscripts or I’m an idiot, an idiot

with my eleven semiprecious rings. Real snow

on the stage. Fake blood on the snow. Could this go

on forever in a good way? A brain left lace from age or lightning.

The chicken is a little dry and/or you’ve ruined my life.