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- 2007-1-20
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- 1970-1-1
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英文小诗赏析:Cement Guitar
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4 ]. m$ u& Z& k- y) j 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.
( P- x; z; q; ?! \7 q' D. u Same waitress every day of your life and she never remembers your allergies.
1 v6 D: e2 d4 G% J0 G' p 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.6 @6 ?+ |9 i: a J3 X5 W! J
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 Z, q i; E2 x Stone is the past,and the past is a form of flattery.7 r( _/ S9 g7 A
Last winter,groups of children sent letters in sadness for the late Christmas suicide.
! Z9 B4 x/ j- ? 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.# V& N7 c- ]' m* v# p
To think out loud about those children's names was to forget what you meant by dying.- Y5 q% f; h4 H$ b5 P/ w
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