Pacific Walkers. Nance Van Winckel
Читать онлайн книгу.
Examiner’s Records
Briefing
When the intern asks why
hadn’t the animals eaten this man
the river months ago washed up,
the examiner numbers
his answers.
An order. Of course. Most
to least. The day animals
vs. the night ones. If six,
thorns. If thy right eye
offendeth. I doodle.
My sketch in the place of
reason: a moustache on Mr.
Numbers. If three magpies
flap away. Therefore an
ambiguity of eye color.
Sketch it: how weird,
the moustache needs
a matching beard. Hair
today. Eight trumpet vines.
Twelve solstice winds.
What had he gone by?
My reason. God’s hard.
If one. If the earthly
life. The this life. His
other car was a train.
His Other Car Was a Train
My tapping for him
against the Corona. Ding
at the end of the line.
The trestle bridge,
a light table with a lean
negative him. The fording
of, the fire in the belly of.
Getting the outside air
coming in. Sleet as rain’s
sequel, and anxious
were the trees and good
the green fields pressing forward
and how great the distance.
Boxcars with zero sans serif,
with only space—space
maybe going somewhere.
Somewhere, how can we
leave it now?
John Doe #130969
Because he’d brought nothing to unpack.
Because the house of this field
was so foreign, it embraced its resident.
Because the body’s bones shook free
neither twigs nor grass, while years in a row
the fir branches shook loose snow on snow.
Because his dog had quit barking.
Because the basalt was here
before the glaciers came and went.
Because the mouth can’t—however much
it seems about to try—spit out its clot of leaves.
Because he was of little faith
after the con ceased working
and the war went on, the last pencil
selling itself short on the street corner
that likewise won’t be missed
and won’t, for now, be named.
Found along the railroad tracks behind 104 South Division Street. Adult Caucasian male. Estimated Age: 60 years. Estimated height of 5 feet 8 inches. Approximate weight 145 pounds. Clothing worn: a long brown coat, a rust-colored shirt, green trousers, black shoes, and a gray hat. There was a tattoo on the right forearm that is possibly a name, but the name was unreadable. Fingerprints obtained, no match found.
—Spokane County Medical Examiner’s Records
The River That Runs Above
The River That Runs Beneath
Icy maelstrom at its bend,
where a girl enters—gold torch
in a red swimcap.
Deep down, the slowest-going carp
stare: at this gill-lessness, which
may account for such gall.
She sinks among the former century’s
tailings: algae, gigabytes, and
the mentholated breath.
She’d been the sort of gift that took
more than it gave. Surely the river
will never cough her up.
I Too Sip from the Flask
The osprey pecks a bit of blue plastic
into her nest of sticks. My brothers, barefoot,
stand in the cold brook
where the dogs are drinking.
We could drive into town. Someone
would sell us near-beer.
Someone would feed us waffles.
The boys argue, ankle-deep in muck.
When she shakes them out,
the fat bird’s wings make the sound of sheets
snapping in a gale. She hates us.
She spits down fish bones.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.