Strolling in the shade of the industrial area.
My forehead is wet
This is delicious bird droppings after the rain.
A hearty excretion.
The season is clear and turbulent, like a song like a song.
When the autumn in the north goes all the way south
And the south is still graceful.
When memory attacks a dry dream
When a bird hides its direction, when life slips through the small intestine, blood betrays.
When the feces are cooled,
When cement concrete occupied the sunflower camp
When I happen to see myself
Pick up a small piece of loneliness in the evening
Let the sunset caress me as thin as a piano
Comments: This poem is difficult to understand. At first reading, the only thing people can easily see is "loneliness". Besides, I don't know what to say. But after understanding, and then carefully read, you will find the subtlety of poetry.
The first four lines are the introduction, which tells about an encounter of a poet walking in the shade of a forest. It can be seen from the first line that this location is an industrial zone.
Then the conversation turned, "the seasons are clear, the waves are rough, like a ballad board", which is still relatively straightforward, and it is written that the years are in a hurry and time flies. Autumn, from the north, came to the "still graceful" south. "As elegant as a roof" refers to high-rise buildings, and can also symbolize a rapidly developing force. And it was the author himself who went south with the autumn of unknown year. It's autumn wind again, and the bleak autumn wind evokes the author's memories. The dream that was high-spirited in those days has now dried up. Birds that come to the south in search of their dreams have to "hide their direction". But in his bones, in his blood, it is a betrayal of fate and an unyielding life. But at this moment, "life has slipped away from the small intestine." Dreams have broken into the most helpless daily life, breaking into three meals a day.
The sentence "when the shit gets cold" has returned to reality. Seeing the bustling scene in front of me, "cement concrete occupied sunflower camp", the author began to think. He's lonely here. He doesn't belong here. He is helpless. He can't find his dream. But his heart is still alive, "the temperature has not disappeared", and he faces the sunset like a wounded bird, pinning his hopes on tomorrow, "Let the sunset caress me as thin as a piano".
Although it is personal feelings, it can cause a wide range of * * *. Who hasn't experienced setbacks in life?
Seeing the big from the small seems to have always been the correct writing.