I may just be sitting on two stools at the same time, sweetheart
Author: Vũ Anh Vũ
Published on: 9/21/2016 9:35:05 PM

the harbor turns inward the night
drifting nets a far-flung dreamy fog
she breaths hard like a fish’s two-chambered swimming bladder
puffs out the tickabridging hope
words wake up under cold weather
waiting to be water-printed
lightning blinks spreads, seeps down the dyke
clashing with the guardian at the gate of past

as for me rush walking to the cluemarket, as the captain advertises the statue of a naked eastern goddess, drawn up in the minutes of administrative state-penalty, for having reversed the fine custom. so one hundred larvae with broken nests locomote aground a tin tabletop. to avoid roaring anger that plunges to exterminate. i seek in fortune the silver scales reforming the ocean, after passing over hallucination under the heat. causelessly surrounding there are more and more viva tops!  there are less and less necessities!


beneath the fragile shadow the black-clouded wings
she waits for the monsoon to spatter the old coral-forehead
the mooring rope rebeads a string of raindrops
vibrates the praying bell
the season cues a beret gathering god’s thoughts
warm flows assemble extending beingness
passing through the far-flung isolation

as for me climbing up the boiled canned voices. climbing up the fire exhibiting brilliant achievements of the era. climbing up the plan for economic growing from applause moaning thunder. climbing up the hearth departing from peace. climbing up the cue preventing other homeland entrance, climbing up the flush of  ocxitoxin-ovary plunging down the fountainhead of genesis.

in the silent air of curfew, the joints interrogate memoir about recording the dawn of old season. through the pale foggy pane, i see the last train honking to summon the crowd spinning hurry-scurry around history

in limbo the blue moon sighs
the fish jumps over constellation-as-silver-palm-tree
draws up the melted milk sea light
the bed adrift on brutal waves
is the rest station for the lost violin’s sounds
she links the floats into a string of failures
to ring the news of alarm

about the one who drops torpidoes in dreams

as for me impossible to complete the eternal thought: we have the same form. a national library evolves us into fish. she fucks me into fish and makes me surrender... the dark shadow waits for its comeuppance. queuing at the end of the food chain

the front page of yesterday’s newspaper
reporting her masturbation in the embankment
the amniotic fluid released youth
flushed over the ruins
flushed over the three-step staircase
flushed over the slumber

chased the sleep-walking fishermen

as for me: i hatch me in her gill. intermingle with a human-herd swimming against the light

- Vũ Anh Vũ
- Hải Yến dịch

- photo by Nguyễn Quốc Thành