Читать книгу Cutting Room - Sarah Pinder - Страница 5

one street named after a saint or mountain, another after blood,

pealing bells, loose live gerunds strung across, pitched in hum,

every eye a question, a pan, an establishing shot.

the alternate ending: wreck this, move with speed, a leash,

obedient click and what follows, wagging, eager, full breath

after the foot lifts, the cloud of upper sound in flat wet midday

warmth. you want drag in chorus, field spent, the clench of taking

aim at exhausted scrap, blowing it all –

the name of a pocket, a hand-carved tattoo.