POLLUTING

a fish is incapable of suicide by drowning

they are usually eaten, or trying to eat.

they will never understand the concepts of 

suffocation, struggle, and surrender.

water inflates you 

like a balloon

you become one with who made you

body is just skin

a plane separating two bodies of water

your hair crawls away from your face, softly like feathers, 

they breathe elegantly, in a pace not faster than afternoon tea

like jellyfish who wander behind your ears then again

cover your eyes

a uniformed dance, they spread apart silkily, tip-toeing

you feel the weight you never felt before as they make waves

as you reach your fingertips towards the light above your head

under the lampshade your fluorescence lights

the bulb

the chair is timid, small, a frozen rabbit

thawing rapidly with the warmth traveling in 

white light 

i am the cloud that waters you, drowns you 

loves you and kills you

i had parked in the very spot you left me, i think the seventh one left of the trash and recycling disposal.

i had spent seven minutes parking to ensure the leeway between my left and right were great enough.

you were standing against the left body of your car, your hands by your side sometimes make way to your mouth.

you were thinking, gathering and preventing any spillage of thought that might stain the air between us.

i thought about how the hem of my gathered skirt tickled the skin beneath my knees.

and how would it be if i welcomed your gaze instead of observing the gravel beneath.

how would it be if i told you what i had dreamed?

I was found on a yellow cement floor, dusted with a broomstick and taken into the family with jaded skin.

My father drove a shiny black car with porous beige leather seats.

My mother laid on the velvet couch for days and days without speaking a word.

do you talk to yourself

in the house when no one's home 

the heat's on high and the water is waiting to boil

the blinds are shut and you sit against the window

thinking

your feet bob back and forth under the hem of the chair

like a wandering kite in the sky

去年夏天，我在你右手臂上設計了一個傷口。

它在你未晒過太陽，淺粉色衣袖半掩的皮膚裡面，用一滴滴的血拼出了我的名字。

我們肩併肩坐在你空曠的工作室裡，熱氣像一張沾水的紙巾，從屋頂滲透進來，貼滿我們全身。

桌上放了一罐你逼我一定要選的仙草蜜。

i am what i once lost, once owned, once was

a cloud, that went through a transformation and

in place a soul, but arid and lost, floating on a 

void blanket like a hot air balloon, who has dumped

its once heavy passengers and 

drained its fragrant fuels. Drifting without

limbs and strings, occasionally disguising as 

i dipped my hands in a paint bucket black

and all handwriting comes out it in cries

words of water, dry on a vacant plaque

naked in the sun, burnt with holes of lies