It begins with
a spark. The wind knows,
slipping through the
square-shaped mouth
in dark-grey of a brick
furnace.
It’s breathing. Flying
up.
Bursting into shapeless
flames.
There are people, their
eyes
telling a sterile apathy,
not going with
their obsessive hands to
put
the gifts in. They are
murmuring
an ambiguous prayer, to
the hopping spirit to
morph piles of
four-cornered paper sheets,
Which take the form of
American dollar,
into ashes. They turn
around and walk away afterwards.
《白蓮寺》
最初
壹顆火星。風吹進
灰色磚爐的四方大口
它呼吸,跳躍
盛開烈焰
人群麻木的眼
跟不上投放禮物時那雙
機械的手掌
含糊不清地禱告
等跳動的火
將印製成美元,港幣和人民幣
的紙錢
化成灰後
轉身離去
I really like these 3 poems. Very interesting to read them folded together.
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