Читать книгу #Sonnets - Lucien Young - Страница 14

O Heisenberg, did not that shaven head

Contain the thought thy wicked deeds could scar thee?

Thou should’st have taught thy chemistry instead

Of cooking crystal in some antique RV.

But no, thou wouldst be Albuquerque’s king,

Thine empire built on meth heads and thy madness,

Face off ’gainst Tuco and Gustavo Fring

And bring thy boring family naught but sadness.

Thou in the desert stood’st, thy pants near soiled,

Thou didst, for seasons six, earn our reproof.

Now, Ozymandias, all thy works lie spoiled,

Like to a pizza hurlèd on the roof.

Thy barrelled cash could not thy soul enrich:

Such were the limits of thy science, bitch!