Читать книгу School - Jen Currin - Страница 19

We don’t know the names of the streets.

We bike down.

We bike down.

Zero family members are travelling with me.

I bike down.

Sleep-deprived-like, ferry wind & ice cream

if you ask.

We took it all seriously & personally.

We took a lot of pills.

We killed a lot of mothers

in our dreams

& we hid a lot of little boys in baskets.

We are not like my heaven.

& we are biking down.

A horned deer-child, bird-like, gnawing the dictionary binding.

Your myriad forms.

Your breath smells like bananas,

but you are not a baby.

Here we are again, in the presence of a living saint.

What, no questions to ask?

No dances, then?

No heaven?