英文诗歌：Epitaph X
by Thomas Heise
上海油压工作室 My birthright I have traded for a petal dress
and a summer eulogy. I have pawned my soul
for this opal ring， the color of a pale， taxidermied eye.
If I could carry calla lilies on my shoulder once more
like an umbrella in daylight， I would lean them
上海油压工作室 on the cemetery gate and sleep until the groundskeeper found me.
For some of us， beauty is carcinoma.
The saint‘s stigmata is god’s rose， bestowed
上海油压工作室 for forgoing a human lover， who will， of course， die.
上海油压工作室 I died last year. My mother made her tears into crystal
上海油压工作室 earrings and clipped them to my ears. “Son， you will
上海油压工作室 pay for your sin，“ my father spoke from his throne of glass.
Stars burn a sharp， white nacre until they evaporate.
The moon‘s flamingo unfolds her iodine wings over the broken city.
My necropolis. My teeth are the fruit of your olive tree.
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