Wednesday, 16 May 2012

yang lian

Museum Windows Carved with the Names of Different Oceans

no ocean stands as utterly still as this
words paralysed on windows
different storms that you’ve read
carved deep into white stone walls
the only time the museum collects is as fragile as glass
you stand here having sailed from sea to sea for many years
you look trees are drowned once again by the sky
green quietly threatening
make a sea’s name command all its dead
no one can reach an unnamed sea
make a living skull reveal its thoughts for spring
the headstone’s statement shines utterly clear

standing by different shores you have been stripped bare
the sea rushes all around fleshy carnivorous leaves
are cards sharks migrate among the specimens
everywhere beneath the water pale teeth that carve out pictures of the living
drops of water utterly famished parched
when thoroughly deprived a make-believe piano is smashed
a vision so transparent that the eyes become the conclusion
the sound of glass lying only makes the ears more ear-piercing
you touch only the waves in your own fingerprints
strangled to death by the same madness on the other side of the window

the moon’s pale yellow skull makes time sharpen its knife
moonlight carves what it destroyed long ago on the museum’s face
the heavy treetops of all the oceans
use you to take root to let spring surge in is to let it surge out
death is like a seed that is greener than you
in unchanging time the footprints on the sea’s surface are all along bent in pain
who knows whose name must make the funeral limitless
a window shut forever
contains the sea outside the bottle only the light that overflows
phosphorescent light that condenses on your bdy after the storm dies
utterly extinguished before your return

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