On the deserted riverside highway, the evening breeze gradually subsided.
Countless thunder is attracting me.
After many trips, I still love the dusk on this beach.
On the other side of the distance are several gray mud houses.
Yang Shulin is farther away at the foot of the mountain.
I have forgotten my original intention of coming here.
That may be because I quarreled with my brother after dinner.
I still haven't found my beloved conch.
The rich Achnatherum splendens swayed wildly, as if
I should walk into them and become a part of them.
An old truck sped past with the sound of rain.
Countless fat and warm raindrops woke me up.
They raised a hot and fishy fog on the floodplain in August.
At this point, I am the only one left in my body.
In this soft sand, I seem to have just broken ground and gained a new life.
The rain flowed into the river again along the hair tips and arms.
At the moment, I feel that I am real.
There is no unnecessary intrusion of love, me and those.
Trees, mountains and people are the roots of this rain.
I hope I don't think of you again, it will be another kind of fatigue.
The rain stopped at the most desperate time, leaving all kinds of ambiguous puddles.
The dark clouds have retreated to the other side of the mountain.
I feel perfect in the dusk.
Some crisp lights grow quietly in the night.
I don't think I have recovered what I have lost.
And let them flow along the river, and I
I can only use my steps through the cold mirror.
Hard to live my equally cold life.
bathroom
In midsummer, his progress in learning Japanese is still extremely slow.
I only had half lunch and it was spread out on the table.
Attract some hungry flies
He habitually picked up the phone again, feeling that things were boring.
It's been half a month, and he's just sitting in his room alone.
Live in pain, as if waiting for something
In the afternoon, the local train to Guyuan
From a distance outside the window.
He looked up and found the room unusually quiet.
Even the surging river in my body stopped.
He left the sweaty sand girl in his hand.
Walking to the window, the deserted scenery made him even more depressed.
He seems to have been so unkind to himself for so many years.
Mom seems to have been in the next room all the time.
Immersed in her cool sleepiness after the ceremony.
He sat by the bed for a while.
He took off his only shorts and went into the bathroom.
He propped himself up on the simple washing machine in front of the mirror and stared at himself naked.
Finally, he no longer feels lonely, and he seems to be somewhat happy.
If there is anything to look forward to, for him.
Maybe all that remains is this soup bottle full of old rain.
Only when it's small and clean.
He will become so focused and forgetful.
It seems that paranoid love is always useless.
Sometimes, he is as wary of others as he is of himself.
Now, he is satisfied with this soft and touching ceremony.
It never occurred to him that this kind of action of scrubbing the body again and again.
What a wonderful meaning of life it contains.
He changed his mind again and felt like an angel.
Perhaps holiness is the lightness that this body can feel at this moment.
The kindness of water makes him feel fresh and lovely.
Stop hating yourself.
He suddenly remembered some people.
When he left the bathroom, he took another look at me in the mirror.
In the illusion of eternal strangeness and perfection, he heard
Surging praise poured into his whole body in the depths of his body.
Read Lu Xun
The daytime here is always too clear and chaotic.
The light coming in through the window made him scream enthusiastically.
A illustrated "Wild Grass" is enough for you to read for a lifetime.
They have scaly beasts, female ghosts and spinning rain.
Sleep slowly in your hand.
Like a mermaid lying in a pool of blood by the sea, dreaming a light dream.
I can't help washing my hands every time I finish reading it.
Because the smell of blood is really unpleasant.
But you picked them up anyway.
From rice congee to black porridge.
Some people hurried by with resentment and helplessness.
"I dreamed that I was running between icebergs."
That figure will drown me, on the river bank in January.
Many old loves and old hatreds grow on the sinking land again.
Have spikelet-like flowers
You suddenly woke up and walked down the narrow stairs.
Go to Shihuma Street to give a speech, behind it.
A woman who binds her feet hides behind the window and looks at you.
Gold in the rain
Your raised arm, suddenly, on the door, lit me up all these years.
-Yves Bonnafoy
How many nights have I woken up from a dead planet?
A man swallowed the ancient lightning and thunder.
April is kind. You bring gold from the alley in the rain.
Chinese olive
With books, galloping in the dark forest path.
In order to get rid of the gloomy years and its barren back.
You taught me again and again to plant the sun on the dark earth.
Waiting for it to sprout again in the cold season.
Maybe we will never lack loneliness.
However, a drizzle came with the fisherman's cloak.
Put those who have colds and insomnia
Gathered at a banquet full of letters.
What else can I say? To tea, to tea.
Just to entertain a friend in Shaoxing.
The ground in the rain is covered with thick weeds.
I swallowed their branches and roots, which is my misfortune.
If it is in winter, it is almost another abundant snow.
From behind, some people who are not in pain slowly fall to the ground.
Like moonlight falling into a river, I wonder how many people are dying at this moment.
Rain awakens the slower seeds and glows underground.
I'm the other one who woke up.
From a century's coccyx, never a rootless hand.
Take over the luster of this rain and enter another more torrential rain.
fig
I am hungry in winter, and the snow in the clouds has accumulated for too long.
It waits for a slight release, such as the smell in the jar.
Make him feel guilty, just like the first time he made a mistake.
The surrounding air is full of strong burnt smell.
However, suddenly someone wrote that my brother was back.
He went to Hami and Turpan to wander the rivers and lakes at a young age.
I often dig out the snow-capped mountains and fly foxes from under his bed to peek.
For the first time, I know that sex is not just sex.
On that day, figs represented sweetness and mother's tears.
I went to see my brother, who was carrying his skull and a big bag.
Here comes the fig, whose unkempt hair looks like a newly shaved dragon.
Curly wind
"Xinjiang specialty, Xinjiang specialty", he screamed.
Mom is crying and I am standing. The smell of figs made me forget my sin.
get through
It makes people beautiful and full of exotic imagination.
It seems that everything is decided by the invisible God and human memory.
Limited by memory, my brother became silent and I became silent.
Time seems to be saved whenever figs are mentioned.
Our faces will become clear and clean again.
Smiling expression
It seems to be all over the table again, emitting the light of redemption.
Artemisia plants
The yellow wind swept away the girl's shyness again.
Tushanhe, hard and black, only for mules and horses.
Travel far away
Pointing to the depths, no one can escape the teasing of the sun.
He was melted by high temperature into the most perfect sculpture on earth.
Between rising and falling, only the altitude of the plateau has not been lost.
solid
He accumulated all his hard work in his palm.
Don't let the sea of blood and tears burst its banks, lest the lizard dream fall into nothingness.
Deficiency syndrome
Like a jumping spark, you are also above the wilderness.
pray
To father.
People say you look like a monkey,
I said, you are more human.
A rainbow blew from the mouth,
Turned into my eyebrows,
People cared for by the stream,
Always forget what to say.
In the past, this was not just
My back is shaking,
And ships fighting at sea,
The dark forehead sinks in the evening.
I understand, father.
Just a single-celled creature.
He lay on four young shoulders,
From the growth of wheat ears to grinding into white flour,
He will melt on the tip of our tongue,
Go deep into the body.
In autumn, the corn giants are all cut down.
Yellow and white sky and Yuan Ye,
Show awkward privacy.
Eurasia began to shake off the cold,
There are countless beautiful white flowers in the window.
One snowstorm night,
Father, since then,
Become a heart to tell each other.
Ma Jiwen, whose real name is Ma Haibo, 1990, is from Tongxin, Ningxia. He is a doctoral student in the Chinese Department of Tsinghua University. His poems have been published in Poetry Journal, Shanghai Literature, Stars, China Poetry and other magazines. He won the 6th Guanghua Poetry Award and the 33rd Cherry Blossom Poetry Award, and was invited to participate in the 9th Star Poetry Summer Camp and other activities, and published the poetry handbook "Xianque Temple".
Poetry view: Poetry is a personal spiritual map, but whether there is an individual. Each of us lives in a huge magnetic field of language, and our formation is completed in the whirlpool of various gravitations. These gravitational forces tear us apart and bring us great happiness. If this is an awakening, I will always be in the pure passion when Goethe said that "the individual must be destroyed again".