It’s honest spite scraped across damp coquina

自毁的怨气刮擦过潮湿的贝壳灰岩，

that makes me a spade, my lust heavy and fragrant

把我变成一把铁锹，我的欲望沉重且芬芳，

as iron shears. My only tree blooms in the painting

如同钢铁剪刀。我唯一的一棵树绽放于

you parlored for me. I’m awash in unopened

你为我的客厅精心布置的那幅画中。我沉浸在未绽放的

buds, those long undulant clits, pollen-laced,

花蕾里，那些长而起伏的阴蒂，沾惹着花粉，

shameless, murmuring while I curve

不知羞耻，它们呢喃着，当我在匝道

the on-ramp leaned into my steering wheel,

转弯，身子倾压在方向盘上，

gin-tinged in my cloche, a store-bought sampler

处在泛着杜松子酒味的玻璃罩里，就像一盒商店买来的

of dried Dutch blues. Saw palms vault

干燥荷兰蓝干花。锯棕榈高高耸立

their middle fingers while I melt. I forget

竖起它们的中指，而我正在融化。我忘了

to unlock my emergency break. I am fat,

松开手刹。我很臃肿，

a moon of cream, a bulbous globe unfolding

一轮奶油做的月亮，一颗肿胀的球体，

a sadness so profound I can’t help but stand back

正展开一种如此深刻的悲伤，令我不由退后，

and gawp, hands and mouth filmed with fibrous green.

呆立张望，双手与嘴唇覆满纤维状的幽绿。

Trucks knock me around like they own God.

卡车将我撞来撞去，仿佛上帝归它们所有。

I inhale Spanish moss, blow out columns of sugar ants

我吸入西班牙苔藓，吐出一列列糖蚁

and black wasps. Everywhere you touched me,

和黑蜂。你触碰我的每一处，

I am tea-stained, pearl and gold, blazed

我都茶渍斑驳，泛着珠光与金泽，被你

with the oil of your fingers. Everywhere you

指尖的油脂点亮。你触碰我的

touched me is the whole of my body. The breeze

每一处，就是我全部的身躯。那微风

holier than dogwood: chlorophyll and cigarettes

比山茱萸更神圣：叶绿素与香烟，

and honeysuckle flutes plucked off graves.

还有从坟冢上折下的金银花长笛。

I climb. Each branch I clutch is a cardinal with wings

我向上攀爬。我攥紧的每根树枝都是一只红雀，

carved from marble, real and suffering as a womb.

有着大理石雕刻的双翼，真真切切，如子宫般承受着苦难。