BLAND LIFE, BLUNT POETRY
Apples change genes, oranges change genders,
words become absolutely tyrannical under the shadow of -ism.
I speak but say nothing; you oppose and oppose everything.
The paradox of rhetoric leads me to the way of poetry,
I travel valleys and gullies like a huge bird in the sky, only to see
fruits become symbols. Too symbolic,
the toughness of apples, the brutality of oranges. To find gentleness
I have to clear away other words from the pile. I plane off
the snobby and sneaky ones, they’ve been trying to use the old against . . .
Or let me put it another way, they act as if they were authorities,
as if they were ministers, or even emperors, of words.
The kingdom of language is decadent. How have I tolerated it
for so long? I’d rather see chaos. I say
chaos is good! When apples fly in the air
oranges become shields against the -ism. Or when I see
apples swimming in the ocean of words like mermaids,
oranges a pack of camels carrying feelings on their backs, I feel
liberated. I feel so liberated I start writing about
the republic of apples and democracy of oranges. When I see
apples have not become tanks, oranges not bombs,
I know I’ve not become a slave of words after all.