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.

Source: PoetryNow (2018)

Man in Boat, 1998