Modern poetry of returning home from dreams

the cold rain drips on the window

leaving the intestine, waking up the dream

swallowing my thoughts, and returning to the hazy place of my hometown

, a vast

curved track of workshops, dormitories and canteens

was pulled into a straight line by time

and squeezed into a solid dot, holding the lever in my hand

. Try your best to

hold up the distant expectation

swing with the roaring machine

cover the veil according to the chaotic light

wander under the dim mud and dust

Every day, the sunshine outside becomes an extravagant hope

Every night, listen to the moon in other people's mouths

A seven-or eight-square-meter hut, a half-foot wind tunnel

A pair of slippers. A biological clock hanging on the wall of a cold bed

messed up the time difference

helplessly looked at a few belongings, dripping with sweat

unaccustomed food

light and tasteless water wine

unpalatable smell

close your eyes and choke, don't be afraid of injury

for' children' who leave home

. They want to see how desperate the world is.

The gleaming sword cuts through their strong chests.

Strips off their black skin.

Pulls away their withered bodies.

But they still have to smile.

Flattery, flattery, stepping on their feet.

Falling in love with red light and green wine, and the youthful glow of romantic love < Sprinkle a drop of salt on the scar

leaving a dusty trail of vicissitudes

Left-behind old people, loveless orphans

Stay under the banyan tree outside the brick house.

Watch the cold season after season.

Watch the train after train at the entrance to the village.

Kneel before the gods and pray.

My distant relatives, when will you return home?

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