重读这首旧诗，似乎又尝到了上个世纪六十年代美国动荡不安的记忆与感觉。当然这中间也多少掺杂了些乡愁。

〈这黄昏〉

一定有触须自阴湿的角落
伸入这黄昏
风从东边来
雨从东边来

泡沫激荡，在遥远遥远的海岬
成一个咸咸的苦笑在你嘴角
喜欢逢人便打赌海鸥的扑翅不会使他着凉的
那年轻水手此刻正在酒吧里替他的女伴装上
长长的假睫毛使她看不清钟楼上警告的手势

他们合谋灌醉了晚天又争引燎原的欲火
焚石狮子的盲眼
只等它疯了的尾巴捣落最後一盏灯
便动手打造一个不锈钢的太阳让明天惊奇

整个下午你躺在花伞下读一则护肤油的广告
静听一个红铜色的声音踢弄一只贝壳
「芝加哥的黑人又在游行了
我可不让黑人作我的邻居」

THIS EVENING

there's got to be whiskers from some damp corners

poking into this evening

the wind comes from the east

the rain comes from the east

in a faraway seaport foams gush

and force a salty smile on the corner of your mouth

the young sailor who likes to wager he won’t catch cold

from seagulls’ flapping wings is presently at a bar putting

long fake eyelashes on his girl so she won’t see clearly

the warning signal from the bell tower

they conspire to get the evening sky drunk and ignite

the flames of passion to burn the blind eyes of the stone lion

and wait for its maddening tail to strike down the last lamp

so they can begin forging a sun of stainless steel to surprise tomorrow

all afternoon you lie under an umbrella reading a skin lotion ad

quietly listening to a tan voice kicking an empty seashell

“ the blacks are holding a demonstration again

I don’t want them to be my neighbors”

1966.10.27