Ridiculous and even boring retrogression
The leaves began to fall and our shoes became smaller.
Mom is getting younger and younger, and her breasts are so close to us.
The humidity in the soil is rising and the rain is decreasing.
Those white hairs are used to blacken teeth in order to gain sharp rights.
Fruit candy and big twist were moved from the corner in the 1980s.
A waiting distance for lips to keep quiet.
The kind of intimacy that has no boundaries on a bicycle follows the wind.
The forest begins with young squirrels, pine nuts and grass-green shrubs.
It's almost out of sight, and the wronged shoulder leans against the wall.
And my cousin's reproachful eyes on the blackboard playground
Flying kites and cleaning children's chorus
Father is still lying on the kang reading a book.
Thousand village crazy bitch, smiled and snatched the melon from my hand.
I have a red tassel gun from my grandfather.
At that time, history gave us weapons against hooligans and thieves.
I went back to bed to write my note.
Accidentally, the years slipped to my forehead.
I started walking with my head down.
Satire and ridicule flowed on my back.
I began to stop sighing.
No more lyricism, no more dialogue with any poetry
Only the wine glass knows my secret.
Ridiculous and even boring retrogression
The boundary of zebra crossing soul
Look up at your years.
Like a desperate tricycle.
Withstand the wind and rain
Such a moon
There is no gap in traffic.
Surging blood vapor
Stop at the zebra crossing
Make water turbid
We are too close.
You can't live without yourself.
A warm bonfire in the countryside
Worship is unnecessary.
The moment dandelion floats
Breathing is monotonous
Bathe in other people's sunshine
Father and brother
It's all for the sunshine tonight
Sneak around
The soul on the zebra crossing
Look around in the light.
I can't hide the edge of my song.
Singing has always been for ideals.
From the heart to this distance
I can't hide the sharpness of my singing.
Tradition is stubborn.
In the popular wind
I can't find the port.
The sound of drifting
Stinging numb lips
Trembling syllables
This is a very helpless thing.
You can't shut up and hide.
Hope on the lawn
Blooming may be a kind of talk.
The sharp edge penetrated the dim window.
On the Yuan Ye of the stars.
Stretching song
A long bloom
The cat in spring
In the flowerpot on the windowsill
The call of animals
Sunlight comes from the highway behind Sanggan River.
A happy and painful destination
The last dependence of a table
Map on the wall
Winter gloves
Not gorgeous
All afternoon.
Leave the hospital with an umbrella from heaven.
The soul of my first poem
Leave with an angel's smile
Who will be moved tomorrow night?
The inevitable heavy rain.
The meaning of life
Farewell to hell
Dear child
I am the father of poetry.
The angel of retention
Have magical fingers
In your leaping journey of life
The gates of hell are always open.
This is my helpless feeling.