纽约,达达的首都

我俯瞰着中央公园,想象着半个世纪前在罗马尼亚北部的一个小镇,一位个子很高,头发灰白的人吟诵着自己的诗作,“红与黑”。凝视着脚下的公园,那些斯大林主义时代的诗篇从我脑海中闪过:

                                    纽约的一切都是那么美丽。

                                    英雄们来来往往。

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