Читать книгу Red Rover Red Rover - Bob Hicok - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThe life of the rough night
I found her in the morning cutting hair from her head
to burn or banish on the river,
a practice run at mourning. Why wait?
She’d risen from bed
to think about the dead getting closer to her parents
by the day, to not sleep
a little differently on the couch from how she’d turned
like a lathe on her side
of dreaming. She’d taken a crowbar to the dark, her eyes red
from trying to break inside
what has no end or center or beginning, while all night
crickets taunted,
Nothing changes. If you want to be reborn, die;
if you want to love,
hurry up: what’s a year, a decade, a life to water: a person’s
a sheaf of rain
in a thirsty world. Rain rain don’t go away: there is
no other day.