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- 2007-1-20
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- 1970-1-1
累計簽到:391 天 連續簽到:1 天
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英文小诗赏析:Cement Guitar
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: F: E' r9 m. q; s5 S9 k) z1 G All morning I've remembered St. Ignacio's bruise,jaundiced seagulls over Quonset, November and the gross white sky. Days so long you walk home fifteen miles from the restaurant.
, s4 V6 f9 e, W/ O% Z0 `& U& M% {9 A9 r% O Same waitress every day of your life and she never remembers your allergies.& g% @# }1 [/ w$ b* n3 {# E
Nothing on the map but scone crumbs and a drop of tea. Just manifold food and a dead request to bury the last of your seven receipts.
& |) m( ]+ r; s6 h7 e Mother of foster-wit,father of straw,I can see how silence takes the place of those who cut their thoughts in stone before they need them.( \9 h0 y1 n) z- i: Y
Stone is the past,and the past is a form of flattery.
9 I' L# B6 I' o: |( j1 {& r) b0 x' ` Last winter,groups of children sent letters in sadness for the late Christmas suicide.
3 V0 }* A1 v/ t, r+ l. r- Z; y Addressed to those who managed the fishery,who named the docks and decided the colors of unfinished boats,the only way to read them was alive.
2 A* ?0 }+ _" E9 W* r5 e% p To think out loud about those children's names was to forget what you meant by dying.
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