Читать книгу By the Numbers - James Richardson - Страница 17
ОглавлениеIII. Pygmalion among the Young
He could tell from their pistol shots of laughter,
their bucking and surging
like someone learning to drive stick,
their pretense and collapse,
their talking on two cells at once,
how they down strange solvents,
their voices sax-raw or helium-high,
how they take each other harshly,
grinding together like stones,
grinding alone like stones, that the young
have statues in them, tall white statues
they must dance out, drink to sleep, outspeed.
Like a finger moving under a line of type—
O god, slower than that—
their future comes, the party they’re late for
where people are saying incredible shit about them
that they have to get to, and say, and say
like how it really is, so they pile in and floor it
till their backs stiffen and their faces change in the wind.
