Multiple poems at a time

outland poetry

诗选

anthology
诗选

   Elizabeth Bishop

Fishing Room
Although this is a cold night
But in a room under the fishing
A Lao Yumin still sitting there networking
His network, in the mist is almost impossible to see the screen
Just a mass of purple and brown
His shuttle has been polished with the old.
That the air smells so strongly of cod
The nose is sour man lookin people
There Jianqiao the five fishing room roof
From the attic storage room under the narrow suspension bridge stretching
Convenient for the trolleys up and down
Wrapped in silver being everywhere:
Slowly, as if wondering emission uplift the ground,
That the heavy sea surface is opaque,
But scattered among rocks in the wilderness
That bench, that lobster tank, then mast
Translucent silver,
As a small building that for years
Grow in the sea of green moss on the wall.
That big fish pots have been beautiful herring scales
Painting heavy wrinkles,
And that cart was painted the same creamy things.
Bite with a thick layer of iridescent flies
In that little slope behind the house,
Hidden in the dim light reflecting glass after
There is an old winch, dilapidated,
Two long white hands have been grinding
Part of the iron
There are some dark scars, like dried blood.
Accept "good luck" smoke of the elderly,
My grandfather's friend.
Cod fishing boat when he was waiting for the arrival time,
We talked about the decline in population
There are herring and cod.
He wore hoop wraps and thumb,
Fish from being mutilated
Scrape off the scales -
That the best part
Old knife with a black
That edge has been worn away a few.
Further down to the water's edge,
Place in that boat to shore,
Leaned over the long slope that water, thin silver tree trunks
Through the gray stone
Lying in parallel, gradually down
Forty-five yards away from the middle distance.
Cold dark deep and completely clear,
Firestone can not stand is the element
Of fish and seals ... ... especially for a seal.
Night after night I've looked at here,
The seal was curious to me. It's great interest
Addiction as I am a believer,
So I sing hymns to it.
I also sing: "God is my impregnable fortress."
It stands in the water ceremony to me with eyes
Slowly moving its head slightly
It disappears from time to time, then he suddenly appeared in the
In the same vortex, the shrug
Established as long hindered its discretion.
Cold and dark and to completely clear
Clear gray icy water ... ... the back, behind us,
Start the ranks of TV drama majestic cedar.
Faint faint, accompanied by their shadows,
One million Christmas vigil
Waiting for Christmas to come. The water seems to hang with
Hanging in the round blue-gray stone.
I've seen it countless times, and that the same sea, and likewise,
Gently, absently tapping a stone,
Stone cold at ease in the above
Then on top of the stone on top in the world.
If you are hand dipped in water,
Now you will feel pain wrist hand was burned
Just like water is the embodiment of fire
Consumption of stones, burning out the gray flame.
If you taste the water, it began to be bitter,
Then salty, then certainly burning your tongue.
This is what I imagine the "knowledge" appearance:
Dark, brackish, clear, and totally free movement,
Since the world
Kennedy drain out of the mouth of the cold, from that eternal breast Petrochemical
Engrossed flowing, our knowledge is historical, flowing in
Soon it without trace.
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
This is a mad house
This is a man
Lying lunatic house
It is time
To the unlucky man
Lying lunatic house
It was a watch
That is the time
So that more people would
Lying lunatic house
It was a sailor
Wearing the watch
That table tells people that the time honored
The man lying on the mad house
It was barricaded by the port board
Is the sailor to reach places
Sailor wearing the watch
That table tells that the brave old time
The old man lying on the mad house
That is that the cell walls and
That ocean wind and cloud deck
The sailor is sailing is
Sailor wearing the watch
That table tells people that the time sour
That cynical people lying on the lunatic house
It was a Jew wearing a paper hat to do
Dancing burst into tears in the prison
Wood is creaking at the foot of Ocean
The sailor is the distance
On the tight winding watch
That table tells the time that the cruel man
That cruel man lying on the mad house
This is a book to be tipped over the world
It was a Jew wearing a paper hat to do
Dancing burst into tears in the prison
Wood is creaking at the foot of Ocean
The sailor is the distance
On the tight winding watch
That table tells the time that busy people
That house mad rush of people lying
This is a boy tapping the floor
Is it that you want to Discovery World
It was tipped over the world
Wearing a hat that Jews of the world newspaper
It burst into tears in the world dancing
Waltz across the entire deck of shaking
It is silent on the deck sailor
Listening to watch sailor
Tick the reports that the time table
At that moment the dull man
Lying lunatic house
This is the age that the walls and doors that
Put the tap in which the floor of the juvenile prison
The boy was in touch if there was tipped over the world
It was a Jew wearing a paper hat
That the Jews was happily dancing in the cell
In that lost the deck above the sea
Passing around the sailors that gaze fixed
The sailor shook his table
That time table tells the poet
The house that the poet lying on the lunatic
This is a soldier returned from the war also
This is the age that the walls and doors that
Put the tap in which the floor of the juvenile prison
The boy was in touch if there was tipped over the world
It was a Jew wearing a paper hat
That the Jews to walk carefully in the cells
Walking in the thick of the coffin
With the crazy sailor TV drama
The sailor gave us his watch
The poor people that watch tell the time
The poor man lying on the mad house
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Marianne Moore's invitation
From Brooklyn across the Brooklyn Bridge, in this beautiful morning,
Come fly with.
In the pale into the nose of the chemical clouds,
Come fly with,
That fly in the tens of thousands of rapidly spinning drum in the blue
In that mackerel sky fall color
That flash of water over the pier site,
Come fly with.
Whistle, pennants and smoke in the wind. The ship
Sincerely with a lot of flags in the signal
Ups and downs as he flew over the harbor.
Flowing into the two rivers, gracefully bearing the negative with
Numerous small clear jelly
Carved in the silver chain drag in glass fruit plate.
Flight is safe; some arrangements for a good weather.
That morning, the waves surging on this beautiful line of poetry.
Come fly with.
As the only black shoes that each toe pointing in the direction
Follow that the high light sapphire color
Enough with that black butterfly wings and beautiful aphorisms
At this point God knows how many angels riding on his broad black hat you the edge
Come fly with,
With a silent voice of the music thinking,
With a slightly critical frown, and blue ribbons,
Come fly with.
Events and in that wave of skyscraper flash; Manhattan
Completely washed by the waves of moral
Come fly with it.
Naturally the heroic mettle to step onto the sky
On top of those accidents, in which malicious movies above
Taxis and large in those over injustice,
When the horn in your ear that echo the beautiful
Whenever you hear of a musk deer for the
Simple soft music,
Come Fly with
Who put the dark museum
As courteous male bower bird
Who told the Lions that obedient
V steps in the public library waiting
Eager to follow up and the door
Came to the reading room,
Come fly with.
We can sit together and weep; we can go shopping together
We can do "to see who was wrong," the game
The priceless treasure of words,
Or we can be bold to explore, as long as you come
Come fly with.
Let the negative sentences of the dynasty
Around you bleak and death,
Let the grammar suddenly turned and flash
Like a group of sandpiper in flight,
Come fly with.
Come on, just like the white mackerel sky in a flash of color,
Come on, just like the day of the comet
Accompanied by unambiguous words long train,
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, in this beautiful morning,
Come fly with.
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Fish
I caught a big fish
Put him beside the boat
Half of the exposed surface of the water, with my hook
Fixed in a corner of his mouth
He did not resist.
He did not resist.
He ordered the hanging weight of worries,
Obedience and solemn
Seems to not care. Here icy,
His wrinkled brown skin is pulled
Like the old wallpaper,
There it was dark brown stripes
Also like the wallpaper
It rose in full bloom
In the years lost by contamination and wear.
His little body covered with circles,
Bodhi as beautiful floral,
He was the little white sea-lice infection,
Hanging twenty-three green seaweed.
At this point he's still breathing terrible gill oxygen
- That frightening gills,
Fresh and full of blood.
The rough white fish would be so terrible to the cutting,
Folding sensational like feathers,
That big bones and little bones,
The internal organs of his flashes,
Red and black showing exaggerated
And that pink swim bladder
Like a big peony.
I looked into its eyes
That big eyes than my eyes a lot,
But more shallow, and is yellow,
Since the old
Watch full scratches into the fish paste
Aluminum foil with a dirty
That support and the iris is pressed.
That eyes slightly turned, but did not
Caught my gaze.
- It is more like a small object
In the light of the slight tilt.
I admired his sullen face,
That the mandibular body,
Then I saw
In his lower lip (if you can call it the lower lip)
Cruel, wet the old fishing line to hang five,
Or a four, plus a guide,
That reel is still fixed on the top,
Five large hooks,
Long firmly in its mouth.
A green line, the point he brake the bands are worn,
There is an intact black line
Suddenly the place off stretch also wrinkled ripples
This strength enabled him to escape.
Like the gold medal on the ribbon
Been eroded rock friction
The wisdom of five root hairs of a lock of his beard
The pain from his jaw in the grow.
I stare for a long time
Triumph filled the small cabin with a gap,
From the pond in the bilge.
Where gasoline spread a rainbow
From the rusty motor
To sink rusty orange,,
The sun drying crack to that thwarts board
Department of rope led to that award by frame,
Gunwale to that - until every thing
Have become iridescent, iridescent, iridescent!
I put the fish back into the sea.
Sense Xie Sangke feed
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Gulf
- To my birthday
In such a low tide the water is shallow and transparent how
Gray mud crushed ribs, prominent and glaring
Hull dry, dry as a match stakes
Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,
Bay water is not wet anything.
Gas flame color becomes weak as possible
Can you smell gas it is becoming
If you are Baudelaire
You can hear it is becoming a marimba music.
Loess dredger working in the end of the pier
Irregular playing with the clay dry.
Particularly birds. Pelican crashed into
This is strange in the air unnecessarily violent
In my opinion, like the beak hoe,
It appeared to catch any little thing,
And left elbow with a funny.
Black and white birds are hovering in the battle
Invisible raft over
Curved tail hanging open like a pair of scissors
Or, as the tension of the fish bone, until they tremble.
Funky foam collection vessel holding fast forward
With the eager hound wind, erect a small wooden harpoons and hooks
Decorated with sponge foam.
A chicken wire fence with metal fixed at the dock
There, like a little plow blade gleams
Is hung up to dry in the blue-gray shark tail
China ready to sell the hotel.
Some boats are still white
Piled one by one, or sideways, full of holes,
From the recent turmoil, salvaged,
Like a tear, but also did not respond to the letter
They discard the bay, which the ancient letters.
Du. Du. Dredger drove off
Started a slow fall of the plaster.
Continued all the varied activities
Messy but enjoyable.
Translation DONGBEI
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
An art
Lost Art is not difficult to grasp;
Filled with so many things
Loss is not a disaster.
What is lost every day. Because of lost door
Keys and driven to distraction, time to get through in vain.
Lost art is not formidable.
Then he lost farther and faster;
Address, name, and you would have to get there
Tourism, will not give you all this disaster.
I lost my mother's table. Look! My last,
I'm almost the last of the lovely destination has also been lost
Lost art is not formidable.
I lost two lovely city. Little farther
I have two kingdoms, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but this is not a disaster.
- Even losing you (the humorous tone,
I love the use of hand gestures) I will not lie.
It is difficult to deal with the fact that art is not lost
Although it looks like a disaster.
Translated by Li He
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Small Project
Think about disturbing the sky hovering storm
Like a dog looking for shelter for
Listen to it roar.
In the dark, those mahogany bolt
No response to its attention
That the composition of crude fiber den
There is a chance there will be hanging his head egrets
Shook his feathers and his mouth made with no understanding of himself
When the water began to light up the surrounding
Think of boulevards and small palm trees
All of a sudden flash of the ranks of the trunk
The weak like a fish bone.
There in the rain. Sidewalk
Every crevice in the weeds
Was hit, was wet, the water becomes fresh.
Now again, the storm left, minor
Sequence, violent war scenes illuminated
Each of the "field of another."
Think of the red stakes or tied to the yacht on the bridge columns
A sleeping man
Think he seems safe and did not have a trace of alarm.
Translated by Ma Hua Jiang Tao
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Shampoo
(The following six days of the new translation by Choi)
Expansion of the rocks silent,
Moss growth, spread
Gray waves as homologous.
They look forward to meet
On the ring around the moon,
Still retained in our memory.
Since Paradise
Attracted to take care of us,
Honey, why you
Emphasis on practical results, keep busy;
May wish to wait and see eyes. Time
Wasted if not moved.
Stars through your hair
The formation of a bright
Closely together
So straight, so rapidly
Come on, let me use that big tin pots for your hair
It is broken, like the moonlight kind of flash with no fixed.
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Orleans Riverside
- To Marguerite. Miller
Each barge on the river off easy
Vast waves,
Like a huge gray oak leaves
Suddenly appeared;
It carries a flow of real Yezi Shun
Drift out to sea.
Giant leaf-like veins on the Mercury -
Those ripples
Toward the dam on both sides of the river
Destroy itself,
Quietly as fallen stars in the sky
The end of their lives.
Piles of leaves that towed the real
Continue to drift
They silently away, dissolve in the
Hall of the sea.
We observe that stood motionless
Leaves and ripples
When light and water tight manner
Formal meeting.
"If we have seen can easily forget,"
I want to say to you,
"Let it go, we are destined not escape
Leaves the entanglement. "
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Letter sent to New York
- To Louise. Karen
I hope you talk about the next letter,
Where you want to do your
Those who show how, after the finish
What else you have fun?
You take a taxi in the midnight
Such a hurry to save his soul
Continuously around the park where the road
Meter such as a dying owl staring eyes
Trees and green seems bizarre anomaly
Stand alone big, dark cave ago
Suddenly, your exposure to another place
Where the incident occurred one after another like the waves
Most of the jokes you could not understand
Wipe the slate as a few bad words
Singing loud and clear can be somewhat hazy
Could not be more black sky has been dark
Brown stone from out of the house
You get to the gray water spilled on the sidewalk
Side of the sun will rise buildings
Keep rocking like a wheat field
Honey, wheat is not oats. I guess
The wheat sowing the seeds is not your
Regardless, I want to know
You want to do you want to go
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Map
Land lying in the sea, covered by the green shadows.
These shadows, if true, then the edge of their
Appeared in a long string of rocks covered with seaweed
That seaweed so the water from green to pure blue.
Perhaps reclining on land under the sea from the hold up
And then calmly back to their side?
Beautiful brown sand and gravel along the continental shelf
Land towing force from below the sea?
Newfoundland's shadow still flat.
Yellow Labrador, the Eskimos in the above
Coated with oil. We can stroke these lovely bays,
The following looks at the glass mirror is about to bloom,
Something like a clean cage full bloom did not see the fish.
Standard name of the town along the coast to the sea,
The names of several cities over the nearby mountains are
- When passion far beyond motivation
Printing workers enjoy the same excitement.
The Peninsula extracted from the sea between the thumb and index finger
As if the woman's belongings smooth touch courtyard.
Land on the map is more comfortable than the ocean,
It is the shape of the waves left the land:
Norway's hare eagerly toward the south
Its silhouette swaying in the sea and on land between.
The color distribution of the national good, or you can choose?
- Water feature that best represents the color is.
Geography is no preference, from the north and west have nearly the same
Color map should be more sophisticated than historians.
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
One moth
Here, above,
The gap is filled with broken buildings moonlight.
Hat man as the shadow is only the size of
V in the feet, as if the doll with a single step of the circle.
An inverted pin, the tip is attracted moonlight.
He did not see the moon, just observing her vast territory,
That strange feeling on the _set_ light, neither cold nor hot,
There is no instrument that can measure the temperature.
However, when one moth
Occasionally, several times on the ground searching for rare,
The moon has become as unusual. He appeared
Opening in a sidewalk, and began
Nervously climbing the buildings surface.
He felt like the sky at the top of the moon cave
That the sky is simply unreliable asylum
He trembled, but must explore the possible upward.
Approaching the roof
His shadow dragging behind, like the photographer's black cloth,
He was afraid to climb, it is envisaged that this time may be able to
Will head into his own little neat, rounded openings
Wrapped in black like a paper, took out the hard from a bobbin
Into the light (in the ground no such illusion.)
He moth fear most people still do, although
He was bound to fail, scared, falling, but no injuries
Later he returned to
He called home, the pale concrete subway.
His light to fly, can not wait to catch up
The silent train. Rapidly close the door
Moths themselves are always people sitting back to front
The train at full speed immediately, there is no shift
Or any process of becoming fast, terrible speed,
He was not himself how quickly retreat.
Every night he must
Ride through the man-made tunnel, doing the same dream.
As if the sleeper's head and trunk in the EU following
Repeatedly. He did not dare look out the window toward,
Because the third rail, and that the flow of toxic gases
Running on the edge. He saw it as a disease
Themselves on a susceptible genetic. He had
Hand in his pocket, as the others wore scarves.
If you catch him
He raised his flashlight eyes. Which are all black pupil,
Self-contained one night, he stared at you see, that burr
Tightening the horizon, and then closed eyes. Where from his eyelids
Drops out of a tear, his only property, like a bee sting.
He secretly caught with their hands, if you do not pay attention
He will swallow it. But if you find to give you,
Cool and pleasant as underground springs and pure to drink.
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Armadillo
- To Robert. Lowell
This time of year
Can be seen almost every night
Those fragile illegal fire balloons.
Rose to the height of the mountain,
Rise to this region is still
Respected a saint,
Red wall paper, which is full of light
Flickering, like the stars beat.
Once promoted to the sky, it is difficult
Distinction between them and the stars -
These are the planet - in color
Fall of Venus, or Mars,
Sinking, or light green. Wind, the
They burn, overturning, rolling, shaking;
Otherwise they will float to the line
Kite-like on the Southern Cross constellation,
Away, and dim, and solemn
Slowly left us
May, run into the wind blowing down the mountain pass
Sudden danger.
Last night, a big balloon and crashed.
It hit the rock behind the house
Splash off, as if the fire broken eggs.
Dripping flames leap up. We saw a pair of
Where owls nest fly
Upward, rotate the exposed white and black
The following shiny red belly, until
They screamed fly vision.
That must have been the old Eagles Nest burned.
An armadillo rushed to escape the fire,
It is left alone, is illuminate the burnished feathers,
Blossoming rose, bowed his head and tail contraction,
Later, a short-ear rabbits
Jumped out of us a fright.
How soft! A handful of intangible ash
Eyes motionless, Huoshaohuoliao's.
Fantastic, this dream-like simulation!
Oh, falling fire, piercing scream
And terror, and that the weak residual threat of force
Mingle with the sky twisted ignorance!
... ...
Since the end of six or more preferred
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Crusoe in England
The newspaper said, a new volcanic
Has erupted, and I read last week
Where a ship saw an island being born:
First, the smell of steam, ten miles outside the spread;
Then a little black spot may be basalt ---- ----
In a pair of binoculars in the rise
Then stick to the horizon like a fly.
They gave it the name. But I had the name of the poor island
Not yet been re-discovered, was not renamed.
Never write a book on it too.
Oh, there fifty-two
Bad foot I can slip a small volcanic
---- A few steps to climb
Die like the volcanic ashes.
I used to sit up tall crater
Number of the other volcanoes,
Naked and dreary, blow their heads.
I think if the volcano is really
This size, I
Become a giant;
If I was a giant,
To imagine
Goat and turtle that was the extent of
Or gulls, or layered roller
---- Roller in a shiny hexagonal
Close proximity to, but never did
Shiny, even though the sky
Almost always sunny to cloudy.
I like islands
A garbage heap clouds. Left hemisphere
All clouds are shipped out and hang
Volcano --- they burnt throat
Too hot to touch by hand.
Whether it is raining so many reasons?
And why sometimes the place is in the hissing?
Convex round the back of sea turtles, heavy to walk,
Like a teapot sizzling sound.
(And, of course, I will of some time, or take away
A few, no matter what teapot. )
Lava pouring out from the sea floor,
Will be sizzling. I fixed it. Original
They are more turtles.
Beach full of lava, variegated,
Black, red, and white, and gray;
That show off the beautiful colors of marble.
I have had Dragon volumes. Oh,
The latest half a dozen each time,
They come and go, forward and backward
Their heads buried in the clouds, dragging their feet
Milled white departments and regions.
Glass chimney, brittle, weakened,
Like a ritual I looked at the glass ... ...
Water column in which the spiral seems to smoke.
Yes, very beautiful, but the lack of companions.
I often become self-pity.
"I deserve this? I assume to be the case.
Otherwise, I is not in here. I choose to do so
Is it just a moment away?
I do not remember, but perhaps something like this. "
In short, there is nothing wrong with self-pity?
I am proficient in a crater rock
Two legs, I told myself
"Mercy should begin at home." So I
The more I pity, feel more at home.
The sun into the sea; as a sun
Rising from the sea,
And that was it and I being one among a.
Everything that the island has a:
A tree snail, with a light purple
Thin shell, climb anything,
A wide range of tree climbing,
Those coal black bush and the like.
Snail shells lying in wait and see that the following
Moreover, across a distance
You will swear that they are a layer of the iris.
There is an berries, dark red.
I tried, then a one, and time is passing by.
Luedaisuanwei, but good, no bad effect;
So I stuffed home the wine. I will drink
Those who braved the bubble, the terrible things that stimulate
Them directly to my head
And played the flute produced in my hometown
(I think it has the world's most mysterious scale)
Then in the flock dizziness, breathing the dance.
Native, native! Do not we all so?
I feel deeply loved
I have the smallest island industry.
No, that is not accurate, because the smallest
Is the most miserable philosophy.
Because I know more than enough.
Why do some things that I did not spend enough?
Greek drama or astronomy? I've seen
Those books are full of gaps;
The poems ---- Yes, I tried
Listen to me recite the iris,
"They quickly Shanshe toward the eye,
This is happiness ... ... "What kind of happiness?
I went back first thing after
Is it looking at it.
That island goat and guano smell.
Goat is white, gull also the case,
Both are too tame, or they think
I also had a goat, or a seagull.
Baa, Baa, Baa, and clamor, clamor, clamor,
Baa baa ... ... ... ... ... ... din I still can not
His voice shaking from side to my ears; they are stung.
Tip din the question, the answer was ambiguous
Over the hissing of the rain
And the hissing of the sea turtle movement
Get on my nerves.
When all the gulls immediately launched into their sound
Like a tree in strong winds, as it leaves.
I close my eyes like a tree,
Oak tree, for example, where it has real shadow.
I heard that some livestock had island syndrome.
I think some sheep.
If a goat standing on the crater
I put it named Mont d'Espoir 1 or peak of despair
(I have plenty of time to spell these names),
And called called, and smoking a gas.
I grabbed his beard and looked at him.
His pupil, reducing the level of
But said nothing, or just express my malicious.
I have tired of the same color!
One day I was with my cranberry red
A lamb, just want to see that
Different colors.
Later, his mother would not recognize him.
Dream worst. Of course, I dream of foods
And love, they are better than others
To be happy more. But then I will do
Cut off the neck as a baby, so that
Like a sheep confused dream. I also have
Nightmare, a number of islands from my
Stretch out to infinity on the island, Island Health and the island,
Like the frog eggs hatch islands
Tadpole, I finally know
I had to live in it and any of the above,
As age, record of their botany,
Their zoology, their geography.
Just as I was intolerable
When Friday came.
(The record so that everything went wrong.)
Friday good.
Friday, well, we were friends.
If he is a woman better!
I would like to breed their offspring,
And told him to do, I think, poor boy.
He sometimes raise a number of lamb,
Also, and their race, or turn around with them.
---- Look good; he has a nice body.
Then one day they come to us away.
Now I live here, another island,
And which one is not, but who obtained distinction?
My blood is full of islands; my mind
Raising them. But those islands
Has disappeared. I am old.
I have trouble enough, drinking real tea,
No interest in being surrounded by wood.
The knife was still on the shelf ----
Exudes a sense of smell, like a cross.
It alive. I have many years
Beg for it, and Aiken that it has not burst?
I memorized every gap and lack of marks
That blue blade that broken nose ... ...
Now it has totally see me.
That living soul is slowly running out.
Rely on my eyes to the upper and away.
Local museum asked me to
All things give them:
Flute, knives, dry wrinkled shoes
Off my sheepskin leather pants
(Fur in moths has been longer),
That put me a good while female parasol
Think of the arrangement of the ribs.
It can sustain, but close up,
Looks like a plucked poultry skin only.
How people would want this kind of thing?
- And on Friday, my dear friend, died
Seventeen years ago, the measles epidemic in March.
丁丽 English
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Night City
[From the aircraft]
No foot can bear
Shoes too small.
Broken glass, broken bottles,
They burn piles.
No one can come
The Fire:
Mottled blood
And flashing ecstasy.
That city is burning tears.
A jade color
Accumulation of water
Begins to smoke.
That city is burning sin.
---- In order to dispose of sin
Center of the heat that
Must be very strong.
Transparent lymph,
Swelling of the blood bright,
In the gold in the
Sewage spilled into the
That flow, melted
Black wrapped in green
And bright
Portland river.
A tycoon
Secreted by their own
A pool of asphalt,
A black through the moon.
Another shouted
A skyscraper.
Look! Chi White
It forces coming down.
That big fire
In a vacuum
Competition for the air.
Sky dead.
(But there are some biological,
Be careful of those, high above.
They put down their feet, walking
Green, red; green, red. )
Note: 1 French, desperate mountain.
丁丽 English
Preferred since these two "wings" 　　

Add a comment