Still Life
Zheng Chouyu

Leaning askew is a row of languid books
In straggling heights a ladder for soul-searching
Sweetness flows down and gets contained in the last cup
Enticing the bee’s legs is the pale-yellow fake honey

Rainwater begins to erode the mural a scroll of
An overcast sky in worn-out glaze A stultifying
Empty bed is a spread of soft gray snuggling up to me
And I am merely a human exhibit
An exhibit for sale and not for sale

I am also a still life in the company of wood and wind
On dismal days I am an open book
With the title page already turned last night

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