by Liao Yiwu
Each night of stars is a night of stars. No.
No? Each night of stars is a skull full of bullet holes.
We argue death inside brains.
We argue death under a fluorescent light
What are hours? Shall we kneel down or stand
in the hours?
Will the bullet shoot through our chest or the back of our brains?
How is the executioner’s skill? How is his aim?
Which direction will our
brains splash? the moment the soul goes out is
When the body falls into a hole, with its white ass to the sun, and
the body falls into the hole
will the legs stick out, erect, high, like flagpoles?
The iron chains crash into waves of River Styx.
On the eve of the shooting
doctor will pump away 1/2 of the blood from the arm
of a man.
A man will hear the sensation of comfort
as if floating
A man’s heartbeat slows down like a basketball game in the air
the dog-eating dog, larger than Saturn
barking over Saturn.
What are you waiting for, fools?
Go while it’s so comfortable, boys!
You are done, earth.
The earth should sign a will and testament
of the dying people
This bastard is called God
The bastard is called God
is licking us with such a big tongue of Time
The tongue that licks the arms and legs of men
Those born from
the mouth are without emotion
And we, born from the vagina
understand what pain is.
What is pain?
Even the bad guys have mothers.
Death is a white flag
a white flag is a light
a light is in a long tunnel
What is a tunnel?
It is a lovely
train, like a penis
ejecting a bullet in climax.
It will be very uncomfortable if it misses the vital part.
It will be very uncomfortable. The anal is now speaking.
It’s still a virgin.
Not fucked by the God yet.
Translated from the Chinese by Katie Farris with Ming Di