你来看我了，覆盖着
一层厚厚的，难处理的
混乱思绪的棉纸：
一个初始的萌芽，冒出一点儿，又降低一点儿
进入细碎的雾中，
被稀释，变得柔和。
钟表敲击出一小时。流畅的时刻。
这些声音很快又会被
无价值的喋喋不休遮盖。
很快这些小火花就熄灭了，
结扣，链条，将松散
--思想的骷髅--
挣扎着站起来。
不平静的睡眠降低它的影子
我会小口喝其意象
像抿一种苦味饮料。
. . . Here you see me, covered in a thick
layer, clumsy tissue
of disordered thoughts:
one germinates, rises a little, lowers
and in a fog of trivialities,
is diluted, softened.
The clock strikes one hour. The smooth hour.
These sounds will soon be covered
by frivolous chatter.
Soon the small sparks will go out,
the knots, the chains, will be loosened
—skeletons of ideas--
struggling to stand.
An unquiet sleep has lowered its shadow
I will sip its images
like a bitter drink.
