Sport 29: Spring 2002
xia yu
xia yu
all the people in puddles
came down with
out their dialects. we
look at each
other in english.
tears crash everywhere.
‘My room is too small
this must mean it's time
to leave again.’ may rain
can't help but be
simultaneous
descending with its talk
colouring the background in
a million relief lines pointing
down, down. ‘I'm out of here
soon too it's too cold
out here soon.’ may rain
divides a million brief puns
into backroom talk
descending around, around.
‘I'm out of room may I
may I rain soon.’ no pause
in the fall of the
multilingual undress
babbling through its ears: xia yu! xia yu!
rain fall; down with
language
hear the crash everywhere
shaping the silence
of a lover who asks
without moving his mouth:
‘What did you put on your skin?
My tongue's gone numb.’