Of poetry as a way,
A factory for making
Raw materials into
More of exactly the same
Raw materials, although
We’re taking Yan Lianke
Totally out of context.
Why not? You take words, take us,
And turn us into more us.
We’re not transformed in the least.
We’re still words and unhelpful,
Not like essays or novels,
Not like books of instructions,
For sure not like holy writ.
Here we are words pretending
We’re finished products, as if
We live and speak for ourselves.
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