After a while he said, “Is it any good?” “The poem?” I asked. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, it’s great. The guys in this poem take even more drugs than I do. How’s AIA?”
“Still perfect,” he said. “Read to me.” “This isn’t really a poem to read aloud when you are sitting next to your sleeping mother.
It has, like, sodomy and angel dust in it,” I said. “You just named two of my favorite pastimes,” he said.
“Okay, read me something else then?” “Um,” I said. “I don’t have anything else?” “That’s too bad. I am so in the mood for poetry.
Do you have anything memorized?” “‘Let us go then, you and I,’” I started nervously,
“‘When the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a table.’”
“Slower,” he said. I felt bashful, like I had when I’d first told him of An Imperial Affliction.
“Um, okay. Okay. ‘Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, the muttering retreats of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: streets that follow like a tedious argument
of insidious intent to lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit.’”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색