Mean Free Path. Ben Lerner

Чтение книги онлайн.

      To lay everything waste in the name of renewal

      Haven’t we tried that before? Yes, but

      But not in Canada. The vanguard succumbs

      To a sense of its own importance as easily as swans

      Succumb to the flu. I’m writing this one

      With my nondominant hand in the crawl space

      Under the war. I can feel an axis snapping

      In my skull, and soon I will lose the power

      To select, while retaining the power to

      All these flowers look the same to me

      Night-vision green. There is nothing to do

      In the desert but read Penthouse and lift weights

      My blood is negative. That’s all you need to know

      Sophisticated weaponry marries the traditional

      Pleasures of perspective to the new materiality

      Of point-and-click. I’m writing this one

      As a woman comfortable with leading

      A prisoner on a leash

      Combine was the word I was looking for

      Back there in the trees. My blood is

      Scandinavian Modern. I kind of lost it

      But enough about me. To return with a difference

      Haven’t we tried that before? Yes, but

      But not from the air. Unique flakes form

      Indistinguishable drifts in a process we call

      All these words look the same to me

      Fascism. Arrange the flowers by their price

      Then, where despair had been, the voice

      Of Nina Simone. Parentheses open

      On a new gender crossed with stars

      Ari removes the bobby pins. Night falls

      There is no such thing as non sequitur

      When you’re in love. Let those who object

      To the pathos swallow their tongues. My numb

      Rebarbative people, put down your Glocks

      And your Big Gulps. We have birthmarks to earn

      Around 1945 the question becomes: Sleepyhead

      Since the world is ending, may I eat the candy

      Necklace off your body? Turn the record over

      Turn the pillow over. It has a cooler side

      Like a vein on the wing of a locust

      The seam of hope disclosed by her voice

      It cannot save us. But it can remind us

      Survival is a butcher’s goal. All hands

      To the pathos. Let the credits

      Bend the plastic stick and break the interior tube

      The reaction emits light, but not heat

      The tragedy of dialectics. Sand-sized particles

      Of revolutionary possibility fall constantly

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