Author he
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At the end of the year, I was ill in bed.
The class lingered for two months.
The pig is humming.
The crowd chirped.
Three sparrows are twittering.
The iron brush rubs the copper edge.
Hit a stonemason and put your head.
Knock loudly at the door. Sad man
Carrying your own body, in the city.
Shouting one's name
Someone turned himself in.
Turn the withered half to the sky.
A flowing river winds away.
It didn't listen, and it thundered.
Roll over Wuguifeng and Dajianshan.
Shake the old camphor tree a few times.
March 2020 19
Second, poetry is false.
Author he
Put your hands and feet
Twist in different directions. seemingly
Trying to prove to passers-by
On the Bay Road, it
Standing for fifteen years. Don't shout tired.
The so-called peace and prosperity of mankind
It's just a tree, invisible.
Another tree. some people
Turn a blind eye to others.
Standing on the bay road, I was at a loss.
Get lost. More like a tree.
A fake ordinary woman like a strange old man