This is an ordinary stone.
Stay here as usual.
Just like your usual face.
Just like normal blood before you die.
Imagine that the marching pot is a grass-green Grenade.
Imagine you take a deep breath underground, long ups and downs.
-Inspire a column of smoke with soaring thoughts.
I dare not cross your silence.
Maybe it's just an iron bone with shrapnel
And bayonet eyes
Maybe there's only one bloody uniform.
Or just a mountain of gay sorrow.
But it's enough to detonate-
The sublimity buried in my humble depths
Ordinary rock release
What does it have to do with what the helmet expresses?
And iris and submachine gun.
Is there a cat in the cat's ear hole? I know when my heart aches.
Yes! At least 1000.
A string of pineapples crawled mysteriously.
After more than ten years, it is urgent to reach your rough texture.
-A watchful crack between rocks
Become your deep wrinkles
Postscript: This is a poem written more than 10 years ago. At that time, I was working in Kunming and once went to Kerkan, Myanmar on business. What I saw, heard and thought at work prompted me to write down the inner feelings of some soldiers who died for their country and their feelings about the war. After returning to Kunming, these words were produced.