酷我-北美枫

[星子]

until words turn to moss.



This was all roses, here, where an overblown house crowns

the hill, the whole field, roses, all the way to the end;

when the rosarian died, the partition of roses

began. We've come out of nowhere, literally,

nowhere, autumnal towns marked for destruction

by a phantom hand; houses held underwater, every bed

a sunken tub, tools drowned between rows, every keyhole

caulked; clouds hallucinating girls asleep on a wedge

of wedding cake; the white rose, among the greatest of liars

beginning to show the debilitating effects of fame,

the ever-popular blaze placates a vase; the bad sons

of thunder beating back a strand of light; someone

who knows nothing apart from the rain

standing on a chair in muddy legs; the roses

blown into their cumulonimbuses,

and someone whose glove is recovered, a face

that doesn't come clear, a face drawn under an umbrella,

beautiful, charcoal, beautiful, like words

that never get old, the sons of thunder beating



这里曾经玫瑰遍地，整个田野和山岗

都是。从山顶上一所鲜花茂密的房子

开始，一路铺展开来。

当花匠死去，花儿开始分离。

我们来自无处，纯粹意义上，无处置身，

秋天的小镇已被一只无形的幻影之手

作上毁灭的记号，

房屋们都淹在水下，每一张床成了淹水浴盆，

工具没在水滩里，每个洞眼充塞着。。

云层屯集着象女孩们昏睡于层叠的蛋糕边缘。

白玫瑰，在巨大的谎言中，显露渐渐虚弱的光彩。

和曾经 眩目光芒抚 慰着的花瓶。

雷电的儿子们回击着一线光亮，

有人不知情地站在泥泞的高椅子上，

玫瑰被吹向积 雨云，有人找到了她的手套，看不清楚的脸，从伞下

移出，美丽的，黑炭似的，美丽的，象语言从来不会变老，

雷电的儿子们回击着,直到文字变成苔藓

[[ANNA]]

until words turn to moss.



This was all roses, here, where an overblown house crowns

the hill, the whole field, roses, all the way to the end;

when the rosarian died, the partition of roses

began. We've come out of nowhere, literally,

nowhere, autumnal towns marked for destruction

by a phantom hand; houses held underwater, every bed

a sunken tub, tools drowned between rows, every keyhole

caulked; clouds hallucinating girls asleep on a wedge

of wedding cake; the white rose, among the greatest of liars

beginning to show the debilitating effects of fame,

the ever-popular blaze placates a vase; the bad sons

of thunder beating back a strand of light; someone

who knows nothing apart from the rain

standing on a chair in muddy legs; the roses

blown into their cumulonimbuses,

and someone whose glove is recovered, a face

that doesn't come clear, a face drawn under an umbrella,

beautiful, charcoal, beautiful, like words

that never get old, the sons of thunder beating



这里曾经玫瑰遍地，整个田野和山岗

都是。从山顶上一所鲜花茂密的房子

开始，一路铺展开来。

当花匠死去，花儿开始分离。

我们来自无处，纯粹意义上，无处置身，

秋天的小镇已被一只无形的幻影之手

作上毁灭的记号，

房屋们都淹在水下，每一张床成了淹水浴盆，

工具没在水滩里，每个洞眼充塞着。。

云层屯集着象女孩们昏睡于层叠的蛋糕边缘。

白玫瑰，在巨大的谎言中，显露渐渐虚弱的光彩。

和曾经 眩目光芒抚 慰着的花瓶。

雷电的儿子们回击着一线光亮，

有人不知情地站在泥泞的高椅子上，

玫瑰被吹向积 雨云，有人找到了她的手套，看不清楚的脸，从伞下

移出，美丽的，黑炭似的，美丽的，象语言从来不会变老，

雷电的儿子们回击着,直到文字变成苔藓