Читать книгу Common Sense - Ted Greenwald - Страница 13

BLEEP

Somewhere (where) in between say

Index and middle fingers, to one day

Wake up and find growing a new rather

Radish vestigial finger

Little do you know little do you too know

Questions. Eyes picking off barrages of mirages soberly.

Lone. Drinking on an empty beach. Sauterne

Bottle overturned. Sand thru sievey fingers,

Listen to prokprok of waves

Fearing too many great many great

Thinkers and thinkers of our time

Busy themselves, usefully. Seeing sprockets as the real

Real. (And all that entails.

Spend time dubbing in historical consciousness,

Makes the heart grow blonder with the distance.

Waterproofs hair. Air.

Fingernails grow whatever way you wish

Sunny nostalgia the way wishes grow,

Whicheverway, are more close to

OBJECTIVE vestments searched for where

Disguised as rockets

One’s free to choose between limits

Between sign that YIELD

Either a b c d e or

Any other squint or

Sequence found squeezing the fingers. Eh, graft. Being

Not so much a question of question or of answer,

Swallowed with unicap and orange juice, but of right

Detachment from the lips

Alphabetically precipitate, that really brings out

Evening crickets bats the real you eating bubbles

Every and each night of the week, depends

Combining sequence with each (vague) COUNT.

Always hoped for sixth toe on either foot.

Merely sonar, an indication you’re not alone

And someone somewhere cares for you.

Detailly, even if vaguely. Please, to mow the maudlin.