Suicidal
You wanna make a few lines and make them short and long
Into a rhythm
Against vehicles not far away zipping the air open on the highway
When no human sound permutes time
Night is night only when you sink
Deep indoors behind a door
And can hear far far away down some valley in the Alps echoes of a church bell
Roll and flutter
Who’d breathe difficult in the morning mist
When you are secretly murdering your poem for the coming of light
The last line, serpentine before your eyes, is disembodied and dismembered
It insinuates
With all silky knotty body
Like drills into your temple and chisels itching for a smile from inside your skull
You are used to this like the dark irregularities patched upon the moon
Mean no more darkness or brightness than your eyeballs
You’d love to keep a smile too
As a bitter souvenir
The last line is a broken sentence
You cannot reincarnate the relic of the sacrificed poem
What can you leave behind
But a wax pieta that wizens in the light of microthermic love
A lacerated mouth that becomes increasingly vivid
Two arms that cannot hold each other
When a baby cries not for milk or dry bottoms
It cries as a man, as if for the first time, with all his heart out
July 22, 2008
自杀的诗
你在造句，句子要三长两短
才有节奏
以便对抗不远处高速公路上拉链头似的车辆
撕开空气的啸声
此刻没有人声改变时间的序列
黑夜
之所以是黑夜是因为
你沉入室内深处的另一扇门后
而且还能听到很远很远的阿尔卑斯山的某个峡谷中
回响着山脊上的钟声
当你为了迎接朝霞而秘密谋杀一首诗
有谁会在晨雾中呼吸困难
那最后一行如一条蛇横在你眼前，丝光的多瘤的身体
支离又无实
影射什么
如钻子钻进了你的太阳穴，凿子从脑颅内部开凿一个微笑
你已习惯这一切，犹如月亮上毫无规则的黑补丁
并不会比你的眼珠更加黑暗或明亮
你也想收藏一个微笑
作为苦涩的留念
那最后一行是一个残句
你无法将献祭之诗的遗骨赋形为肉身
除了一座蜡制的圣殇像在低温之爱的光照下干枯
一张撕裂的嘴越发栩栩如生
两只手臂抱不住彼此
你，还能留下什么
当一个婴儿不是为了吃奶和干爽的屁股而哭叫
那么那已是一个成人在痛哭，也许第一次，将心都哭了出来
2008年7月23日
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