The Spoon

 

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.

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致我的生活故事

 

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。。

 

我跟你说，你不是世界上唯一个故事！ 我会当汉姆雷特！我会当李尔王！我会当奥赛罗！不要怀疑我——我真会！

 

但是我们已经在一起好多年，差不多浑然一体！如果你回来我保证我不会发表你，不会把你出卖，我会把你的杜撰当作我的台词.

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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! 

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Oscillation

 

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.

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法宝

 

我最近的死亡源于一种强烈的购物欲望。去一个店，看看几张脸，进入一些美梦，变成另外一个人。。。

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一进门，就能听推销员就喊：‘欢迎光临！这个星期你买三个轮回我们送三个！’

 

在第一个轮回里我当个胡萝卜，享受肥沃的泥土，跟附近的西红柿说一点闲话。其实，很多人喜欢欣赏植物的生活方式。比如当个高尚的黄瓜，狡诈的蘑菇，或者一个诚实的西兰花- 这真是一种狂喜。

 

在最后一个轮回我当海菜。我每天摆动在寒潮里，每天被小鱼咬。旁边有个果园，在果园里我最好的朋友是个李子。这个李子真是太美丽了，果皮又薄又亮，她的光亮照明了黑夜。我辛苦时，她会用植物的语言对我私语，给我念诗词，讲一些李子的历史故事。过了几天，一阵台风来了，我被一阵狂风吹到远方，从我亲爱的李子吹到一个不熟的肉体。

 

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Spying on two old people through their living room window

 

 

I can see how it ends

In the grey-blue rust on the shadows of these social security ghosts,

As they melt slowly into furniture,

Floating in a daydream bowl of half-yellow darkness. 

 

And as I wait for the subway to start I pace

Then perch and rub my hands, watching like a pigeon these statues,

As they sit

 

Like the old expressionless mountains

Wrinkled into their faces,

Unthinkably remote, grand, and completely past everything

 

Within the polish and flow of our world,

Its clockwork humming in their soft purple veins

The stomach sand of sad songs.

 

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