我不是博尔赫斯,博尔赫斯也不是我。我没爱过诺拉——想象中的女人,我从未真正生活过。天堂和地域,征服和被征服,仍然是穹空中一座巨大的图书馆,仍然是尘埃、耻辱、风暴掀动的大海。我不是我!当你的名字无人响应,你苍白的头颅成为黑铁的证词。我请求众神和你一块抵达这人类的清晨、错误的领地,并用那古老嗓音召唤无穷无尽的往昔。而往昔也并不存在。往昔似一声尖锐的呼喊越过飞鸟与激情,在你的笔下寂寞地消逝。但沉重的书 I am not Borges, Borges is not me. I have not loved Nora - the imaginary woman, I have never really lived before. Paradise and territory, conquered and conquered, remain a vast library of domes, still the sea of ​​dust, shame, storm tilt. I am not me! When your name is unresponsive, your pale head becomes the black iron’s testimony. I ask the gods to arrive with you in the early morning, the wrong territory of this man, and summon an endless past with that old voice. The past does not exist. In the past like a sharp shouting across the birds and passion, in your pen lonely disappear. But heavy book