黑  鴉
 
 
 幸福是陰鬱的，為幻象所困擾。
 風，周圍肉體的傑作。
 這麼多面孔沒落，而秋天如此深情，
 像一閃而過，額頭上的夕陽，
 先是一片疼痛，然後是冷卻、消亡，
 是比冷卻和消亡更黑的終極之愛。
 
 然而我們一生中從未有過真正的黑夜，
 在白晝，太陽傾瀉烏鴉，
 幸福是陰鬱的，當月亮落到刀鋒上，
 當我們的四肢像淚水灑在昨天
 反復凍結。火和空氣在屋子裏燃燒，
 客廳從肩膀上滑落下來，
 往來的客人坐進烏鴉的懷抱。
 每一隻烏鴉帶給我們兩種溫柔。
 這至愛的言詞：如果愛還來得及說出。
 
 我們從未看見比一隻烏鴉更多的美麗。
 一個赤露的女人從午夜焚燒到天明。
 
 
 BLACKBIRDS
 
 
 Happiness is dismal, perplexed by phantoms.
 Wind, a masterpiece that surrounds the body.
 So many faces fall, and autumn has such deep feeling,
 past in a flash, the evening sun on your forehead,
 first a sheet of pain, then it cools, vanishes,
 it is the ultimate love blacker than these.
 
 But then in our lives there has never been a true black night.
 In daylight, the sun pours out blackbirds,
 happiness is gloomy, when the moon falls on a knife blade,
 when our limbs are sprinkled like tears on yesterday
 repeatedly freezing. In the rooms fires and air burn,
 the living room slides down from your shoulder,
 guests sit down in the embrace of blackbirds.
 Each blackbird brings us two kinds of warmth.
 And these words to love: if there is still time to speak of it.
 
 We have never seen more beauty than that in a blackbird.
 A naked woman burns from midnight until the sky is bright.

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 手  槍
 
 
 手槍可以拆開
 拆作兩件不相關的東西
 一件是手，一件是槍
 槍變長可以成為一個黨
 手塗黑可以成為另外一個黨
 
 而東西本身可以再拆
 直到成為相反的向度
 世界在無窮的拆字法中分離
 
 人用一隻眼睛尋找愛情
 另一隻眼睛壓進槍膛
 子彈眉來眼去
 鼻子對準敵人的客廳
 政治向左傾斜
 一個人朝東方開槍
 另一個人在西方倒下
 
 黑手黨戴上白手套
 長槍黨改用短槍
 永遠的維納斯站在石頭裏
 她的手拒絕了人類
 從她的胸脯里拉出兩隻抽屜
 裏面有兩粒子彈，一支槍
 要扣響時成為玩具
 謀殺，一次啞火
 
 THE HAND GUN
 
 
 A handgun can be taken to pieces
 broken into two unrelated things
 one the hand, one the gun
 a gun grown long can become a clique
 a hand painted black another
 
 And the things themselves can be further pulled apart
 until they grow in contrary directions
 in the endless deconstruction of words the world segregates
 
 With one eye people look for love
 the other presses into the barrel of a gun
 bullets make eyes at each other
 your nose aims at the enemy's living room
 politics incline to the left
 one person shoots at the east
 another falls in the west
 
 The black-hand gang puts on white gloves
 the party of rifles changes to short guns
 immortal Venus stands in stone
 her hands reject mankind
 from her chest you pull out two drawers
 inside are two bullets, one gun
 that becomes a toy when you pull the trigger
 Murder, a dummy round

 (Tr. by Michael M. Day)