不少篇目没有题目，也没想过起：它们的来源是生活，而如果生活有题目，我们的不少感受会减轻许多。我也就不好忤逆这个公理了。
鲜花和一只骷髅
空空的眼，空空的球
鲜花缠绕着肋骨
肋骨缠绕着
笛子和一只骷髅
空空的嘴，空空地留
鲜花缠绕着牙齿
牙齿缠绕着
草地和一只骷髅
空空的手，攥着
鲜花缠绕着双手
缠绕着
飞来的雄鹰和一只骷髅
秃鹫和一只骷髅
武器和一只骷髅
鲜花缠绕着
武器缠绕着
太阳落山了
土里的生灵开着派对
爱着鲜花
爱着笛子
爱着肋骨
爱着关节
爱着神经的痕迹
爱着一只骷髅
这就是他了
书桌前面，盘着腿或者瞪着眼的
喉咙润不湿，水喝完了也是
为什么几个神经元的活动
就能决定三个月的情感，激动和爱
六月的下午
打印的书，破校服和灼人的阳光
从黑板的吱呀里超脱出去的
是坐在一边的你和你看着的我
我不知道该不该看你
没有雨的话
在试图保持的童真里
的天气有些不太妙
于是我爽约了
我记忆不好，怪你
美的是见到你
可能不美的是
从树叶间飞来的阵风和名单
外流动着的那三个音节
我害怕那是你
于是就回退到一些梦呓
散乱小床上黑灯瞎火的记忆
几首班得瑞穿插
三十只春茶，那是托举着的手
我怎么就是掉不下去
如果他站在我身前
暴烈地撕开自己的前胸
那是一片赌着气的赤忱
弄丢在第二天的早上
我看见一条红领巾
三十五遍，从电视的嘴和嘴里的电视
鲜血染红了人民共和国的大地
和你胸前的一米
那天我或许是个班委
红色的塑料袋，装着五十场红色的迷
前面是吃了灰的电视机
后面
后面
我不知道
我不知道我是否 了你
而你走失在回忆
How would you proceed loving the world
When your world is jammed in an inch or two?
As Nero tried to describe, ahead of his time
In the midst of unmatched spirits of rhyme
Or maybe lead-enchanted wine
How would you proceed screening the world
When your world is sunk in figures of loom?
As when the string stirs and bounces
In the hands of whom we never knew
Or maybe 'twas but you
How would you conceal discerning the world
When it crumbles and falls just opposite yours?
As when paling words from your nails flow
Into the space of whom you wound
And present themselves a blur?
And how would you manage to buy the world
When it simply gifts you from inevitable gloom?
As he might rush it out, take his time
To perceive how everything swirls
Into right, right and right
As boundaries of ambiguity, randomness and fate cross into the veins,
Will you cross swords with me, underneath the warmth of uncaring sol?
Will you sweat me with spirits of grape, olive and the unchained blue?
Would it be pleasant if my shapes fetter, in notes of her clumsy lyre?
Would it be true, if gazed into the eyes of blonding plume, a cast of elysium?
As the puellae of blue sunk into waves of everlasting wounds.
As eternity faded, leaving but a clue.
嗯，这回倒是有题目了。不赖。
在奥斯提亚
我看到一个世界
立柱，无神的眼控
孔洞和浮雕
旋转的天顶画
在昏黄的不见天日里
燃烧的水汽
酒红与天青味的旧梦
一艘船离开，带着青铜的未来
台伯上游的一场雨
我看到一个世界
迟暮，下垂的紫边
前人的神庙，今人的凯旋门
无眼的正义
溺在没入水中的极乐
那是一片铅黑色的蓝
和没入水中的骰子
When vocabularies arise from a glimpse
of rows of piled memories and
garbages thrown into a century, the spring of adulthood
dazzling is the point when music overwhelms
into senses and likelihood
when rows of cars piled with luggages
descent into reluctancy and what seemed to occur
phases, minions in the face of wound
though plain enough to penetrate very soon
which tense bumps from recent to moon
the silence of picturer's noon
a place narratively wrong, but it should
and no more else should I do
to accept this expectancy
and bypass the sanctuaries of
blue
"And, by the side of the river, I caressed into you. There I saw feet on the ground: Solid, floating greenings as velvet and flax swoon. And a river by the tree, a parallel, whose shadows blend into a blur. It was."