没有太阳，光就降临
没有大海
心潮就掀起波涛
破碎的鬼影头顶着萤火虫
没有血肉装饰的枯骨
光的手却抚爱它的肌肤
大腿上的烛火
温暖着青春，却烧焦了岁月的蓓蕾
没有种子
人的果实在星光下平滑圆润
像无花果一样辉煌
没有蜡，烛光展示它的柔发
黎明升起在瞳孔之后
呼啸的热血贯透全身
海流般地滑动
天空毫无顾忌地倾斜着
将呕物喷满魔杖——
正微笑着探寻泪水的矿藏
夜在眼圈四周积聚
像漆黑的月亮，限制着眼球的扩张
白昼照亮尸骨
没有寒冷，侵肌的风
解开冬天的衣裳
春的柔发在眼睑飘荡
思想在雨中发霉腐烂
光降临在神秘之骰和闪念的指尖
当逻辑死亡
土地的秘密通过眼睛透露
那时，血就会在阳光下飞扬
黎明止息在荒废的机缘之上
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Sprout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.
没有大海
心潮就掀起波涛
破碎的鬼影头顶着萤火虫
没有血肉装饰的枯骨
光的手却抚爱它的肌肤
大腿上的烛火
温暖着青春，却烧焦了岁月的蓓蕾
没有种子
人的果实在星光下平滑圆润
像无花果一样辉煌
没有蜡，烛光展示它的柔发
黎明升起在瞳孔之后
呼啸的热血贯透全身
海流般地滑动
天空毫无顾忌地倾斜着
将呕物喷满魔杖——
正微笑着探寻泪水的矿藏
夜在眼圈四周积聚
像漆黑的月亮，限制着眼球的扩张
白昼照亮尸骨
没有寒冷，侵肌的风
解开冬天的衣裳
春的柔发在眼睑飘荡
思想在雨中发霉腐烂
光降临在神秘之骰和闪念的指尖
当逻辑死亡
土地的秘密通过眼睛透露
那时，血就会在阳光下飞扬
黎明止息在荒废的机缘之上
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Sprout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.