Читать книгу On Malice - Ken Babstock - Страница 12

Everyone thinks Lord in relation

to animals. Relation to substance, perhaps, often

for hour after hour. Eternal struggle

with him croaking and people there almost

with us. Now

I am thinking. How beautiful her true

form can become. Neither alone

nor fully with them, balanced

naked, wet and bruised.

Noisesome takeoff not helping me think

in mauve, rose and silvering blue.

The first star, wing light in the tagged mouth, sobs.

Night. Ten minutes after takeoff from Biysk, September 11, 1971.