regret
I suddenly began to be afraid of my own poems.
Like a skeleton dyed yellow by a virus
Moths with peristalsis in the chest and orbit.
A wolf with hungry green eyes is coming
Did dismemberment and burns.
Just like the loneliness after the prosperity is gone.
Wandering alone in this rusty space
Unable to escape
The cruelty of human nature
Like a natural disaster.
A stormy intersection
You must wait for the season to change.
commutative
Far away. Poetry will end in this rust.
Like large tracts of flowers, red and green are replaced by towering buildings.
Like the blue sea and blue sky, it is scented by colored and odorous smog.
The spirit of being as stupid as a fool was revived by the excavator. ...
Poetry foretells the fate in the distance.
Like a rusty fortune teller.
Counting is not your destiny.
come
rise
His life