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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 Guitar6 D& t# e7 ~: Q( L- \
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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.3 x H/ e2 t2 r9 i1 X6 E+ n9 `( M
Same waitress every day of your life and she never remembers your allergies./ z% s% [$ ]6 W: h: w3 b' N$ R5 N
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.
& x! Q; {) \6 U9 N H; l 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.
3 L; {4 o4 K$ b- R. o Stone is the past,and the past is a form of flattery.
, T8 M) T* z/ e2 e Last winter,groups of children sent letters in sadness for the late Christmas suicide.. _# X# A2 W4 V9 f
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.
, R- n/ j0 V8 s" p2 @5 K t To think out loud about those children's names was to forget what you meant by dying.
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