Читать книгу Taking on the Local Color - Cynthia Genser - Страница 10

And what did I, wretched I, love in you, you theft of mine, you sin in the night.

—The Confessions of St. Augustine, Book 2, Chapter 9

I’m usually a great

dreamy beast,

Giant,

not Jack

clambering to you.

Who minded being small, sprawled

across you?

It was

like leather,

but with a

fresher feel.

It was like stealing.

And who steals

but a sad beast

stealing itself?

It throws its thievings

to the river,

like pears to pigs.

That’s how I live,

Giant,

snuffling, some snouty thing

with a silk scarf,

with a bright eye

and my boots,

down by the river.

I walked there, at 5,

with a drugged smile

and the whiskey

dragging.

I thought about you.

And now let my heart

tell you

what it was looking for;

the evil was foul,

and I loved it.

I loved

destroying myself.

Tell me, Giant

does that go too far?

You can say it.

In the end it doesn’t matter

if you love or hate me, only

devastate me.

FOR E.L.