Читать книгу By the Numbers - James Richardson - Страница 13

Head-On

Flashing vehicles, unurgent lounging

tell you what it’s too late for.

Don’t rubberneck.

Don’t look down the front of death’s dress.

Don’t say that white oblong on a gurney

looks like a bobsled, looks like room service.

Don’t say it looks like a man,

all bright days jarred from his brain

like droplets from a branch.