Poems
D’Angelo in Starlight
星光中的丹杰洛
September 27, 2026
Good God, the devil is up to his old tricks.
His old jealous awe, being where it should not.
He rides aslant blue ether. He brings down that
老天，魔鬼又耍起了老把戏。他那古老的嫉妒之威，出现在不该出现的地方。他斜骑着湛蓝的以太，带下那
voice of reed and steel. He whistles like a
comet through a crooked tooth sweat a chain
gang’s moan. The brightest falls when he whistles.
芦苇与钢铁的声音。他像彗星一样吹着口哨，穿过一颗歪斜的牙齿，渗出锁链囚徒的呻吟。他一吹哨，最亮的那颗便坠落。
As it falls, brightens the Archer’s black hole.
Stars grow quiet mid-sea. Goddammit, he
skins the brightest he mirrors, cuts clean strings
of wind, the bastard of history repeats
坠落之际，照亮了射手座的黑洞。星群在海中央安静下来。该死，他剥了那颗最亮星辰的皮——那正是他的镜像，斩断干净的风弦，这历史的杂种重演着
all that iron deposit of bad rain.
He can swell a man’s lunar hours big
with a haunt no root-work spell could undo.
Not a preacher’s lash, not the devil’s tongue.
He is both and none. Waiting at the gate.
那一切坏雨的铁矿沉积。他能把一个人的月夜时光撑得肿胀，用一场连根术咒语都无法解除的纠缠。不是牧师的鞭子，也不是魔鬼的舌头。他两者皆是，又两者皆非。等在门口。