Spoon fed sweet comfort
In our mouths can make us doze
Which feels so nice
Like lying on pillows in a limo
Being driven, in our softest dreams,
Along a gorgeous path
To a bed where a smile and soothing words
Cross any missing meaning
Behind our backs.
故事,你跑到哪里去啊? 你为什么离开了我? 我是否虐待了你？破坏你的情节的逻辑呢？ 不走向你必然的结论？ 还是你以为我对你不忠，跟其它的故事发生关系？我到底是犯了什么罪？
现在我只是一个单独的字在一本空白的书。。。每天我没事做， 我只能从第一页跑到第二百页， 连一个卑贱的标点符号都没有。。
Crazy Grandma Rising
Crazy grandma says her planet’s closed,
And shut the door behind you.
She is past being calmed
By doctors music nurses children
That will sit with her and read with her,
Sounding out the words she slurs
And those she has forgotten.
They are past her or she is past them
Past Citalopram and Olanzapine
Past toothbrushing and toileting
These meals this home this shit. This calming music
Before death so she storms out bird
Flying through the winter breeze
Over a bridge
Into a café,
Where she sits, shivers, and inhales,
Smiling gently though the shelter of her shut eyes.
Then she lets her vision fly out
And watches it flapping away
As she blinks,
Clawing with her eyes at the world.
Let's Have A Feeling
Angry just refuses to be angry.
I’m finally happy, angry says,
Now I know that one must accept oneself.
But you’re not accepting yourself,
Acceptance says, you’re becoming me,
Which is making me become angry.
And of course happy is not happy –
You’re not me either! she yells,
I’ve never been angry! I’m happy!
There are no real solids and Buckminister Fuller
Explained that love is a kind of metaphysical gravity
So, as love begins, being swells and surges,
Like when you emerged from foam onto silica,
And I emitted an oscillation through space time,
Along with a transfer of energy, and you waved back.
Soft off waves’ frisks and spurts
The wind soothes susurrant leaves
And clogs clap rhythm across macadam.
The tide tells time:
Surge, cusp and backwash,
Exhaustion and erosion, absence.
And footprints, back and forth across the sand.
And joyous shouts.
We collect the shells.
In A World without Agents
Everyone wants to understand art.
Why not try to understand the song of a bird?
No glib, civil slab of muscle and guile,
Sipping a whiskey, smiling at lies
In suspect mouths and eyes, would go so far undercover
As to suddenly cease to be.
Nor would birth become yet another break,
In life, a mechanical game of billiards,
A meaningless matter of force and chance.
Perhaps nothing in the world would change.
Trucks and tanks would roll into cities
As coccoid methanogens in ruminant guts attack grass;
Saturn would pass through its aphelion
As a boy dons goggles to dip into a pool.
As a pupa turns imago and slowly grows wings
A film about the stock market comes out.
A painter uses acrylic to make stars melt
And some species will sing while flying.