- 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 Guitar6 _& ~- c, h; \+ P
+ a( U$ y& R% Z, K 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.' I* n( j0 ^; G3 v& B7 l
Same waitress every day of your life and she never remembers your allergies.. N! p: |5 n! _' g- p7 \
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.5 w. Y" t% [2 B( ]5 i! r
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.
, d, X) g7 j7 J L Stone is the past,and the past is a form of flattery.
1 \: A: h6 Q9 f) N3 T* |6 u Last winter,groups of children sent letters in sadness for the late Christmas suicide.
& B" q3 w9 k" G+ f9 z& G+ X5 ~- C 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.% n/ O j, h0 d* P' B2 v0 a
To think out loud about those children's names was to forget what you meant by dying.
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