Читать книгу New Theatre - Susan Steudel - Страница 15

The city is a folk tune.

The city, mirrored in night sky.

Listening to the revolutionary poems.

The old venue creaks under our feet.

Reality a roofless house.

A small dog wanders into the poem,

slinks out.

Some dogma makes out with itself.

I can navigate this.

I don’t know you but it doesn’t matter.