紫郁金宫：慢板的一夜

后宫里的一夜总有月光　玉阶和珠帘
却都是想象的　一束花衬着壁纸的蓝
想象　妃子的紫衣下一堆雪在坍塌
急急等待被占用的雪　用结晶慢慢
转身　每分钟向内卷曲着慢慢舞蹈
一束郁金香璀璨的衰败脱下一场自恋
一种紫色的耳语　必须喘息着说
只对那人说　当他重重碾压着花瓣
一滴紫色的奶　像妃子急急等待被吸尽的
想着　全世界就涌进一根滚烫的脉管

后宫里的火　总有舌头百般的顽皮
被修剪的尖　舔到皮肤的空 午夜之绿
绿如片片堆叠在妃子脚踝处的叶子
那人的宠爱　一场来自所有方向的沐浴
浇淋他的花　乳头的紫玉小碗斟满了
报复一个时间　大海沉积在色素里
一束郁金香一夜从女高音滑入女中音
今夜　霸道之美对称着流逝的诗意
妃子只为那人保存的幽香　只交给他把玩
紫色的慢慢粉碎　丝光停不住时

后宫里总有闪烁成一个蕊的磷光
一根针指挥着　肉体四季被演奏的欲望
一种镂空的剪裁　镂空至妃子的生死
壁纸蓝蓝如一次缝合所有伤痛的狂想
只一次　花影中日子咬下的牙印
就无限发暗　这夜色无限鲜嫩　刺绣到身上
原初那次　紫　像滴慢慢洇开的奶
慢慢被宇宙吸收　纵容那人的黄　那么黄
凝视中赐给妃子一个黑尽的语法
当花瓶像个词圆圆贴着手掌

A Night in the Purple Tulip Palace (Adagio)

Co-translator: W.N. Herbert

In this seraglio night always consists of    moonlight, jade steps and a curtain of pearls
all imaginary    a bunch of flowers against blue wallpaper
imagine    caving in under the concubine's clothes a mound of snow
snow waiting impatiently to be possessed its crystalline body slowly
turning    constantly curling in on itself in a slow dance
a bunch of tulips divesting itself of the love of self as it brightly declines
a kind of purple whisper which must be spoken breathily
addressing only him as he crushes the petals heavily
a drop of purple milk    like a concubine impatiently waiting to be sucked
concentrating    the entire world into one burning duct

In this seraglio    fire always has the rude playfulness of tongues
a pointed tip    licks the emptiness of skin    midnight's cling
green like leaves gathered at the concubine's ankles
his preference for her    a shower coming from every angle
watering the flower the little purple bowl of her nipple fills
in revenge against time    the pigment holds ocean's deepest spoils
a bunch of tulips slips in a single night from soprano to mezzo
tonight    tyrannous beauty is balanced by this aesthetic of erosion
this evasive scent which the concubine keeps for him alone    and only lets him savour
when the silky light can't stop    purple very gently splays open

In this seraglio there's always this dead bone phosphor light becoming a pistil's gleam
conducting the body's desire    to be played for all four seasons
carving out this hole cut through    the concubine's sculpted days
the wallpaper is blue like a crazy mind sewing up all past pains
only once    the hours' bitemarks into each flower
darken endlessly    the night is stitched onto flesh    endlessly fresh and tender
once in the beginning    purple    gradually spread like a drop of milk
slowly absorbed by the universe    which sees his lasciviousness    and winks
by staring he bestows on the concubine a totally dark grammar
the vase is like a word resting between the hands