Modern poetry on the topic of pigs

The soul of a pig

needs to build ditches

It attracts dirty moonlight for irrigation

It is more crystal clear and bright

The gurgling fills the eyes

Just as the cold subsides and the temperature rises

No complete

decent bud leaves can be drawn

Only the position of people

There is no room for pigs

It can't be arranged < You have to be crazy at any time.

You are desperate to dance and shout.

Only the road of people.

You finally bypassed the light rain on the edge of the morning.

You were panting and ran into the torrential rain behind noon.

Everything was dripping.

The fire speech was chaotic.

. In the pile,

the image of a public servant

expert cultivation

the minimum ethics of a scholar-bureaucrat

grunting and grunting

an extremely bad pentagonal shape

firmly occupying the eyes

ignoring the' decision' repeatedly eased by the meeting

appearing more lofty and steep

with a red flag inserted at the top. The price of meat has gone up again.

Money is in your pocket.

When the light meets the water and the wind, there is no asexual reproduction and fission.

Mutation, mutiny and fusion.

The amount of space has increased.

A little bit of content, meaning

Dilution and dilution

Gradually

Transparency. I see

You can almost see

all kinds of operations of pork injection and waxing

coloring, injection and antisepsis

more lean pork

pork with problems, dead pork

stamped and painted red, and moved in and put on

migrant workers' souls are gloomy

sweating in and out

even if it is only asexual reproduction

the simplest fission

I want to.