The wind is like a whip.
Whip the skin at night
It snows heavily.
Evil as heaven.
In a tin house on a suburban construction site
Avoid a poet
The dim light became strong in the swaying.
A house of 7 square meters
There is room for a bed.
A few small square tables
And the fatigue of working during the day
And the poet's soul
A bed of bedding and an electric blanket are waiting for me.
Cover them up.
It's so hot that I cry.
There is a finished instant noodle box in the corner.
and
Eat a clean mustard tuber bag
A simple wedding is being held.
The witness is the tempting half bottle of bread on the table.
?
Through the big window of the bowl
See the lights of the building not far away
That's the home of city people.
Warm and picturesque
I also dreamed about it.
Become a city resident.
very high
Live in a building
Pick another flower in the city
Life will be different.
But this is only a momentary dream.
Tired of being confined to this single apartment.
Tiepifang
This is also the mood of petty bourgeoisie.
Is the only happy imagination
She is still a happy ending.
Shout at the warm day
The noise is very complicated.
accept
The pain of work.
Tired of going out
Scold by the boss's foreman
Are treated as after-dinner jokes.
Tiepifang
Became my bosom friend
Every night, accompany me to say warm love words all night.
?
The snow is very cold.
And the wind.
I like war.
The tin house is my solid shield.
Any sword artifact, strong bow and crossbow
In front of her.
Soften into a cup of tea.
A little further.
Can hear
Wolves howl on the barren ridge.
I am also a wolf.
From the farther north
My howl is on the paper.
The vocal cords are hidden in the ink of a cheap pen.
I will roar.
And can sing.
On paper full of words
The iron house of the earthquake echoed around.
Author | Mao: (real name: Mao)
WeChat official account: Global Wen Yuan
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