I is not ego, not the sum
of your unique experiences,
just, democratically,
whoever’s talking,
a kind of motel room,
yours till the end—
that is, of the sentence.
The language, actually,
doesn’t think I’s important,
stressing, even in
grandiose utterances—
e.g., I came
I saw I conquered—
the other syllables.
Oh, it’s a technical problem,
sure, the rhyme
on so-so-open
lie, cry, I
harder to stitch tight
than the ozone
hole in the sky.
But worst is its plodding insistence—
I, I, I—
somebody huffing uphill,
face red as a stop sign,
scared by a doctor
or some He She It
surprised in the mirror. 作者: 忍淹留 时间: 2014-9-7 23:51
口感上有些像歌词呢。作者: 闽中林木 时间: 2014-9-8 07:08
还是有诗意的
