名人诗歌|Schema

In the field of traumas^{1 come the base savannascrosshairs tighten2}

on the flaring^{3 pink of the evening.}

Recognize the world. After the bit of blue， after a window opened

to air and the portioned stereo of love and grandeur^{4， after}

mother sews a fell-off button， heats a stew^{5， sews at the factory，}

re-stews， tires， starts （again），

father shortens a barrel， leans blast-weapons beneath windows，

stacks ammo with scream and apocalypse.

Under cover， you are dead behind the couch when they knock.

From the first， in the glossed-over city where none reprimand

violence， the palms executed along the auto^{6 avenues thrive}

a pitch-staggered procession in white-painted trunks.

The memoir^{7 has shown how bitter and relentless8 is the rind}

privacy flowers pubescent， hopeful to outlast^{9 time.}

Traffic flows or sTOPs on elevated structures in denial of the seven- point-two，

and in the aftermath of advertising^{10， children wander the highway in search of litter.}

The citizens are trembling among the trembling.

Against the green stripagainst the urbane^{11 and its expansion into the continent， the boulevard is the last boundary between the sky and the low-lying building，}

though it is too accomplished^{12 among the rest of the wreckage13.}

They have their memories. The trigger is set on annihilation.