Modern poetry of cicada silence

Just like seven years ago.

Cicada sleeps in the mud.

From egg to claw.

Frozen soil is black.

Just one summer.

One summer

Boil seven years into a long and boring number

Dream of lights flashing alternately during the day and night.

That's weird. This world.

Cicadas struggled to overflow from the open hole.

Dusk is sometimes at night.

Despair is all god's will

Desperately looking for something to rely on.

So,

Some are hung on wooden fences outside the wall.

Some are stuck in the grass half a foot long.

There are more things I can't see.

Lucky enough and unlucky enough.

Climb the branches of poplar trees for tens of meters.

Golden cicada slough shell

Just one night.

It's not a fish jumping dragon, but a cocoon breaking into a butterfly.

Has been shattered and reduced to ashes.

Cruel, cruel

Cruel jungle law

There is no room for living things to breathe.

dawn

Snoring woke me up.

Leaning against the faded white concrete wall

Sweat soaked sheets

Embryo Cat is lying with a round belly.

I leaned against the blue bed.

I am at a loss to think about the letter I should write to the girl in cicada today.

Cicada after cicada sings in prayer.

I hope that girl has received this letter, too.

Cicada after cicada, and this.

One emotion after another.

At this time, I am writing on the desk.

Suddenly seem to see

Seven years ago today, just like now.

Cicada sounds like waves.

When I was a child, I wrote very hard.