Читать книгу On Malice - Ken Babstock - Страница 23

Suppose the weirdest bed is between

Heaven and Earth, and school

roams days between

ice and practising songs.

We’ll be of no interest

to the dead. Whether the dead Lord

with the red-hot iron shoes lay

for us once is of no interest

to the books.

We chaptered over our clothing

in the common sink, never lifting

our gaze. I’ve a miner’s lamp, no fire.

August 22, 1976, at 17:40. Khatanga.