- 註冊時間
- 2007-1-20
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- 在線時間
- 小時
- 米币
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- 最後登錄
- 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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; q. `+ m8 |7 b3 O7 t( I 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.
1 i# u$ M9 ?! c Same waitress every day of your life and she never remembers your allergies.! B/ X/ c. g9 K3 T" Z
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.8 ?4 G3 \$ j: H3 i: q
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.* |# l" x+ ?4 I: ]- q
Stone is the past,and the past is a form of flattery./ H2 V0 _. T$ q7 R7 C3 ?8 F1 y1 c
Last winter,groups of children sent letters in sadness for the late Christmas suicide.0 x& Y7 F" E8 n9 n
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.
- F4 M1 _3 S, u- ^7 w$ q" m1 \ To think out loud about those children's names was to forget what you meant by dying.
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