Bath in the city’s modern poetry

The fine snow pushes me in the dark. The strange man at the entrance

took my place and walked into the bathroom. The smell of alcohol on his breath was like a fish diving into the sea

It merged into the incoming bathers and more bathers came out. cumulonimbus clouds. He even fell into a walking dream, raised his thumb, and praised Xie Spade, whom he hadn't seen for many years but could still drink it down in one gulp. The temperature of the river water woke him up for a while. He thought he was dreaming of a volcano, but found that it was just a surf pool swallowing him up. He insisted on walking into the sauna with his eyes open, scooped up a ladle of water and poured it on the volcanic rocks in the wooden box. The screaming water vapor

brought him a rare sadness - his hometown occupied every holiday of his

Just like marriage bought off a loyal woman until she no longer young.

She covered her face with a wet towel, not out of shame. He felt that

he was already past that age and he just wanted to avoid the heat wave

Breathe and be able to stop looking at the group of hippos rubbing mud around you.

After all the sweat was squeezed out of his body bit by bit, he left

the wooden benches piled with flat belly and walked towards the ice pool

But he only stretched his legs He put a finger in and gave up the idea

He emphasized that he was a temperate creature and should complete the bath before drinking tea in a suitable water temperature

.

A fine layer of snow covered the field ridges contracted by me and the farmers below me. Their daughter stayed on the second floor, opposite him, on the sofa at the entrance to the lounge.

This was the ridge of the fields where they farmed. His appearance

disappointed them, his face was written with the future described in the newspaper

It was a boring affair that did not allow any man to have exclusive rights.

Women will be exclusive to any man. In contrast

They admired the tea boy running around, bent on squeezing the feet of the female guests

The child had just a layer of down on his mouth, but he pretended to be Belly

Riddles, jokes and jokes, without him, the world would be reasonable, just like an artistic gesture. She

left the others who were looking at themselves in pity and walked towards him who was picking his feet and drinking tea

He was not a hippopotamus, but she insisted on her seal-like posture

Being able to put him on hold, her fingers flicked the air a few times, and then gently

She ran through his bag, she wanted to sell him for forty minutes

Holy darkness, help him return to the darkness his mother created for him

Let imagination baptize him. He is not a believer, and all he can do

is to give random compliments. He has achieved the pinnacle of life that she believes in.

Incarnation: movie star, singer, model, youth ambassador, image spokesperson

And he himself is just a train driver. He will be laid off tomorrow and will fall to the bottom of his life.

He lamented their sacrifice, but could not afford to buy this half-human festival. She heard their giggles, behind her back it was like a bunch of snakes crawling up her back, and her feet were stepping on soft fields

She and the sunflowers Standing together, they were planted by her father himself, and there are still traces of their fruits on her front teeth.

The fine snow squeezed me from the inside. New chrysanthemums

Flow in my dark channels. When I was writing poetry, what did I dream about, a kind of magic? A narrative does not come from the active person, but from the passive person, which breeds the lightning rod< /p>

Magic? I bathed, I evaporated, I dried in the shade

I carried the pot, I exerted my strength, I opened the mirror, I took out the hat

I endured the strange smell, sweat, exhaustion, and boredom. I lit a cigarette and then put it out. I stumbled and fell into the pool.

Narration and substitution woke me up, I pulled it

The axis of flowing water, it is there, it changes the speed of scouring

It measures The density of happiness testifies to the physical field

It is blue soup, it is time, it is the turbidity that accommodates my aging.