Yaxian
I want to survive, nothing else; At the same time, I found his unhappiness.
-Saudi Arabia
Children are often lost in your hair.
The first flood of spring is hidden behind your barren pupil.
Some years cry. The body unfolds the festival at night.
In the poisonous moonlight, in the blood delta,
All the soul snakes stood up and pounced on the one hanging on the cross.
A thin forehead.
This is absurd; In Spain
People won't even vote for him a cheap wedding cake!
We mourn everything. Spent the morning touching his skirt.
Later, his name was written on the wind and on the flag.
Then he threw it at us.
He ate for the rest of his life.
Go and see, pretend to be worried, and smell the decay of time.
We are no longer lazy to know who we are.
Work, walk, pay tribute to the bad guys, smile and be immortal.
They are people who stick to the motto!
This is the face of today; All the wounds are moaning, and the skirt is covered with bacteria.
Keywords metropolis, Libra, paper moon, extremely wooden words,
(Today's notice is posted on yesterday's notice)
The cold-blooded sun shivers from time to time.
Between two nights.
Between the pale abyss
Years, cat-faced years,
Years, close to the wrist, the years of semaphore.
The night the mouse cried, the man who had been killed was killed again.
They tied bow ties with grass from graves and chewed the Lord's prayer with their teeth.
Without a head, it will really go up. Among the stars,
Wash his crown with brilliant blood,
When the thirteenth month of the five seasons of the year, the sky is below.
We set up a monument to last year's moth. We are still alive.
We cook wheat with barbed wire. We are still alive.
Through the sad rhythm of billboards, through the dirty shadow of cement,
Through the soul released from the rib prison,
Hallelujah! We are still alive. Walking, coughing, arguing,
Cheeks are a part of the earth.
Nothing will die now,
Today's cloud replicates yesterday's cloud.
In March, I heard cherry shouting.
Many tongues shake out the fall of spring. Blue flies are eating her face,
The cheongsam fork swings from one leg to the other; Longing for someone to read her,
Get into her body and work. Except for death and this,
Nothing is certain. Survival is the wind, survival is the sound of the threshing floor,
For those who like the diaphragm, survival is-
Pour out the longing for the whole summer.
At night, the bed is deep everywhere. A feeling of walking on broken glass
A faint voice of fever. Forced blind farming of agricultural tools.
Translation of peach meat, combination of kisses.
Horrible words; A kind of blood and blood, a kind of flame, a kind of fatigue!
The gesture of pushing her away.
At night, in Naples, there are beds everywhere.
At the end of my shadow sat a woman. She cried,
The baby was buried between raspberries and saxifrage.
The next day, we went to see the clouds, laughed and drank plum juice.
The only personality left on the dance floor.
Hallelujah! I am still alive. Put your head on your shoulder,
Carrying existence and non-existence,
Holding a pair of pants face.
I don't know whose turn it is next time; Maybe it's a church mouse, maybe it's the sky.
We bid farewell to the umbilical cord that we hated for a long time.
Kiss on the lips, religion on the face,
We wandered around with coffins on our backs!
You are the wind, the bird, the sky and the river with no exit.
What stands up is ashes, not unburied death.
No one pulled us out of the earth. Close your eyes and look at life.
Jesus, can you hear the whispers of Lin Mang growing in his mind?
Some people beat in the beet fields, others beat under the myrtle tree.
When some faces change color like lizards, how can rapids?
Reflection sculpture? When their eyes are fixed
The darkest page in history!
And you are nothing;
It's not that one breaks a cane in front of the times or dances with the dawn wrapped around his head.
In this city without shoulders, your book will be smashed on the third day and then made into paper.
You wash your face at night, you duel with the shadow,
You eat inheritance, cosmetics, the little cries of the dead,
You walk out of the house, walk in and rub your hands. ...
You are nothing.
How can we strengthen the legs of fleas?
Pour music into your throat and let the blind drink all the glory!
Scatter the seeds in the palm of your hand and squeeze out the moonlight between your breasts.
-You have a part in the darkness that revolves around you.
Charming and beautiful, they are yours.
A flower, a pot of wine, a bed, a date.
This is the abyss, between the pillow and the mattress, as white as an elegiac couplet.
This is a sister with a delicate face, this is a window, this is a mirror, and this is a compact.
This is laughter, this is blood, this is a ribbon for others to untie!
That night, Maria on the wall was left with an empty shelf. She ran away.
Find water from the forgotten river to wash away the humiliation she heard.
This is an old story, like a lantern; Function, function, function!
When I peddled along the street with a basket full of sin in my arms in the morning,
The sun stung my eyes.
Hallelujah! I am still alive.
Work, walk, pay tribute to the bad guys, smile and be immortal.
Live to survive, and watch the clouds to see.
Have the cheek to occupy a part of the earth. ...
On the Congo River, a sledge stopped there;
No one knows why it slipped so far,
No one knows that there is a sled parked there.
The poetic language in Abyss constructs a gorgeous world of metaphor and symbol, which helps the poet to express his philosophical thoughts without losing his poetry and sum up his own existence without being drowned by the torrent of life. In the jungle of metaphor and metaphor, each section forms a complete image group with an independent plot. These contextualized stanzas share a role in the whole poem: wedge, theme and ending.