Читать книгу Phases - Mischa Willett - Страница 20

at the Bocca Della Verita

Here’s the spot they stitched

the coin of his face back into

itself; you can trace

with your finger the rough

splice running over his eye

where someone tried to make

it look as though the circle hadn’t

broken, that truth was still spoken

from the mouth thereof

and people hadn’t lined up to tell a lie,

their hands shoved down his throat.

It says something about our senses

of restoration, no? And something else

about the past. What, exactly?

Ask.