Читать книгу In Full Velvet - Jenny Johnson - Страница 13

I must speak of erasure when I long to be leaf-whelmed,

lit by fire pinks and wild sweet Williams How dare

I speak of the marked when I am the diurnal creature damming

the night sky with engineered lights We’ve generated a realm

where we can always see, never see From an aerial

view, here’s my bright address—refracting, scram-

-bling, shutting out the dark O day in the Anthropocene

when I go to pull up buttercups, bare-

fingered, so I can better reach the runners, thin-rooted trams

tunneling invasively Where’s Hope? Hope’s a weed, obscene

on my head, springing white hairs