Читать книгу Pacific Walkers - Nance Van Winckel - Страница 7

Nearing a thousand words a minute, I can type

to your health. I can input a print that’s fit

to all. Can get across baby without

a single b. I can keep my prayer mat

under wraps. Ditto the armband. I have the facts,

you have the contracts. Sure, you can change

my name to Lance in the byline.

Like jerking off Band-Aids, I can rip away

calendar pages so fast, no one will even know

we’re over the past. Day in, day out, I can

make them play along with my playing

along, can make them believe decedent,

can disseminate and disguise at the same time

what’s face up, fetid, gnawed at by weasels.

Just. The. Facts. I am like you. Or passing

through you like a taco. Easily rolled up

to swat a pesky moth. Spread wide to accept

your bounty of trout guts. Quick to appear,

pass the verbiage, and disappear.

I can stay anon. I can live anon.

I can keep anon in my heart.