Rise Up, Go Call On the Dear Departed
Rise up, go call on the dear departed
The rain’s stopped, the rice’s already above your knees
Do you believe the instant a broken bone heals
It’s sturdier than when intact?
Death is the antonym of creation
In great volumes, books on death
Are awarded Nobel prizes
Breathing still calmly carries on
Explaining invisible things by way of tangible objects
Or going about it the other way round?
Rise up, return to a homeland that’s already gone
Do you believe the swaying of trees whips up the wind
And it’s not the wind blowing the trees?
Is the start buried in the end, or is a
Blurry-faced person incessantly making
Idols after his own image?
Rise up, go ask forgiveness of a dead man
Winter has passed and this is my purpose on earth
He has died and cannot die again
I have lived and cannot live again
January 11, 2016, Chengdu
God of the Moment
God of the moment. Not a part
Of any time. The god here
The god there. The same god
At weddings, at funerals
In dialogue, and on the road being travelled
God of the moment. Bearing wounds and worry
Carrying all the perfections of the imperfect
Carrying the scars of history, the odor of dust
The same god. Dropping disasters and
Bestowing blessings. Judging people and pitying people
God of the moment. Freeing the heart
Also bending the body. Magnificent
Insignificant, a god of
Christmas and of Good Friday
A god of white people, a god of black people
Hey, god of the moment. God of
The Party and the people
God of dogs, pigs, and breeders
The god of judges and convicts,
Nuclear bombs and stem cells
God of the moment. Of Bethlehem
Guiyang and Chengdu
God of heavenly stems and earthly branches, of Yin and Yang
God of parties of the right and left, of the long-lived and prematurely dead
Of all that breathe, offer praise or rejection
December 20, 2012, A prayer while waiting for the holiday
In this Age, You Must Write a Poem that Borders on Criminal
In this age, you must write a poem that borders on criminal.
A line of Chinese characters may overthrow a state.
A sonnet may overthrow fourteen states.
At a secret masquerade, let those who recognize you
Identify you. Those who don’t recognize you do so even less.
In this age, you must make leaders fear a poem.
A metaphor is a nuclear bomb.
The singer doesn’t know a page of absurd words are tears of a subjugated nation.
On the worst days, a massive sea swell strikes.
Death becomes a prisoner, detained by water.
Who is not related to a political prisoner? Who is not the widow of a ghost?
In this age, when you recite a poem, you become suspect of crime.
If you don’t recite, they’ll recite you.
In this age, the blind stammer to themselves.
Holy, holy, holy. The blind ask the deaf, have you seen?
In this age, you must write a poem that borders on criminal.
Pay respect to those suspected of this crime.
June 5, 2015, at night
