Читать книгу Scarecrow - Robert Fernandez - Страница 9

scarecrow

Bring your servants close.

Nesting is not a time.

There is no damage here.

The brain is fine. The leaves,

fine. The wine is as black as ever

—

There is a pace

and it slows

and it sees

and it

lows

—

One slickens up to you, all

oil, to assure you of your substance.

This is all all all. Make a note

of it. Herein lies a balance

for yellow birds with black heads

and black moths with yellow heads

and all detritus of coming near

the realm of the dead—namely,

yellow and black leaves softened parting

—

So I am a pairing—I know my rules:

let sheep eat sheep and lions, lions.

Let Latins meet Greeks under patch-

work quilts. Let the vision plaid

for a bit

—

I bit

and the grapefruit had a bit

of death’s black and from my tear ducts

came grapefruit seeds, black

as hor-

nets. Pity

them Lord for they know not

what they do. Pity the lions and the locusts

—

Pity the animals—the day is a raze,

heat and wheat gathered into airy combines

of thrashing. The noise spins lions

in the air. My fair one falls

down to me on black ropes. No

one can see me, and hope is a thing

for birds and fools. I drool

on locust bouquets and steps

of honey. Come

—

Meet your master

in the dust; with his

one tooth, he drains

you dry. May you spin

here, scarecrow, among

the other straw-like things

planted in the dark earth,

swollen with light and time