World Secrets: A Report on the Subjectivity of Backdrops
Ducks were never floating on
the surface — those selfie-stick
telescoping legs of theirs
are braced hard against the riverbed, practising
a posture known as dignity.
Chickens, meanwhile, have already seen through
the whole business of going into water:
nothing but surrendering the patent,
giving up that last telescoping
to a bowl of vermicelli soup.
A mature thought knows to spin
whole, like a hard-boiled egg —
no longer letting raw notions
brawl inside the shell.
The cat, through a sixteen-hour agenda,
keeps its eyes shut yet has never withdrawn
from the voting procedure — vetoing adjournment
again and again; the dog,
that enormous red button in its brain,
forever celebrating an expedition, even when you’re
only taking out the rubbish, has already
popped the champagne; the fish, meanwhile,
passing the same rock for the eighty-first time,
still retains the awe of a first encounter.
Roots push downward to secure
a Plan B; flowers bloom, having found at last
a reason free of KPIs. As for clouds —
those sky-borne civil servants, skiving off,
dragging their feet on quotas, turning
thunder into memoranda of urgency,
dropping two perfunctory drops first,
then waiting until you’ve left your umbrella behind
to issue formal approval.
Rain sinking into soil is not death —
it is an internal transfer
with full years of service intact.
The mountain, in its long stillness,
endures the noise that calls itself civilisation;
that thing called “civilisation”
binds its long-term plans into volumes,
mistaking thickness for weight.
And so they build temples on its body,
worshipping and placating in the same gesture,
until it decides to move
its brow, ever so slightly, and humans discover
that their hefty chronicles of the world,
before a geological mood,
are only paper —
and that they themselves are merely
outsiders seated inside all things, inventing “secrets”
to catch an echo, and through
the mouth of the world, finally
speaking themselves into being.
世界秘密：关于背景板的主体性报告
鸭子从来不是浮在
水面上，它们那自拍杆一样
可以伸缩的长腿，正
死死撑着河床，练习一种
名为体面的站姿。
而鸡看破了作下水的下场：
无非是交出专利，在
粉丝汤里放弃最后的伸缩。
成熟的思想懂得像
煮熟的鸡蛋那样整体旋转，
不再让生涩的念头
在壳内互殴。
猫在十六小时的议程里
闭着眼，却并未退出表决程序，
反复否决散会；而狗
脑中那个巨大的红色按钮
永远在庆祝远征，哪怕你
只是去倒个垃圾，它也
已经开好了香槟；鱼则在
第八十一次路过石头时
保持着初见般的震撼。
根往下扎，是在确认
Plan B；花开，是终于找到
一个不带 KPI 的理由。至于云——
那些磨洋工的空中公务员，
正拖延着指标，将
雷鸣化作催办的公函，
先敷衍地掉两滴，
等你决定不带伞，才正式批复。
雨落进土里并非消亡，而是
带着完整工龄的内部调岗。
山在长久的静止中
忍受着名为文明的噪音；
那群叫”文明”的东西
把长期规划装订成册，
以为厚度等于分量。
于是在它身上修起庙宇，
一边供奉，一边安抚。
直到它决定轻轻
动一动眉头，人类才发现
那叠厚重的世界编年史
在地质情绪面前
不过是纸
而自己只是坐在万物之内的
局外人，发明了”秘密”
去捕捉回声，借着
世界的口，终于
把自己说了出来。