Man In Boat, 1998
By Vi Khi Nao
It’s unbearable to shadowdrift along the
seabed. It’s unbearable to grieve when
sleeping is more important.
The boat is a hammock without strings.
As the body is a sleeve not strung to the
soul. The boat is chained to the shadow;
when the shadow drifts, the boat drifts
too.
Is it at sea? Or is it just in air? Can a
boat live on air alone?
The man’s back bleeds. This is all
expected of creatures who sacrifice their
nudity for solitude and immortality.
The flesh is eager to float, fully
captivated by the impulse to preserve an
array of stillness. The horizon is not
skirring and nothing can move on that
river made of air. This boat. This boat.
This boat that the horizon can’t coat
with its own monolithic entreaty.
The man bathes in all blemishes of the
moon. The man’s body can take
imperfection, as he feels complete. His
white-grey hair is a type of condensed
cloud he can rest his head on. If he must
commit suicide, he knows he will rest on
a very comfortable pillow, one that he
grows from the ovoid base of his skull.
It’s good to get all the hard work done
first and then unbutton one’s corporeal
flesh calmly before the undiluted
enterprise of air.
His penis is one finger pointing to the line
that separates his thighs. Everything
is hidden deliciously inside his pituitary
gland.
Copyright Credit: Vi Khi Nao, "Man In Boat, 1998." Copyright © 2018 Vi Khi Nao. Used by permission of the author for PoetryNow, a partnership between the Poetry Foundation and the WFMT Radio Network.
Source: PoetryNow (2018)