At the ceasing of the running:

What terrified us so?
At the fall of the cities:
Why did we inhabit them?

I love the way the grasses - one genus
Following the other - smother the dead cars;
The strict order of their progress.

I love the way her neck falls into
Soft lines and the hardening of her hands;
The strict order of her decline.

I sung the world no longer there -
Hardly a dried flower of Apollinaire,
Hardly a chair,
And we would fail to know it in the market.

Howard Barker
1990s

0 Опубликуйте на своих страницах в сервисах: