turbulence

    — to YX

translated by PLS

we are forced to land here for now

Brautigan on the table, like a

defeated Indian tent

trekking doesn’t take place on the other shore

those mellow soils, ferns

the rebounds after being rolled over by cars, yet

around us, the muddy vulgarity

embellished into chocolate paste —

the more obsession people have with sweetness, the more

bitterness proven, the more speed they demand,
the more emptiness

congealed into ores on the back

inflammations from bad postures, increasingly

intolerant to stooping, touching the porcelain of

light over water

the throat you bring to China, asking

why there’s no difference between

someone hearing “Jiangnan”

and changing channels

this reminds me of the concerns about earthquakes

inscribed all over the top of the pagoda, inside ancient gates

there’s always people building a country of a country

in Mandarin.

self-salvations already so suspicious as this, we

can’t be as selfish as them

it used to be the moon leading us through the night,

then lamps, now, it’s the non-stop

progress bars: galloping radio waves want me to answer

whether suspending in the air is a real flight