Yu Wen’s poems by Yu Wen

Time——

Is an improvisational painter

Using people’s faces as canvas from time to time

Painting a few lightly Pen——

Draw a few tawny butterflies on the cheekbones

Asymmetrical butterflies;

Leave a few water ripples in the corners of the eyes;

Draw a few dark or shallow grasses on both sides of the mouth.

Just a few strokes

Change your appearance.

You poked your head out from a similar time, held up

a mirror with an obtuse angle, and carefully

plucked out the white hair on the temples.

Time changes its angle and looks at you, still holding the paintbrush in my hand

. What was achieved at that moment

was an unparalleled closeness

Wearing a top hat at dusk at that time

A cigarette holder in the street at that time

< p>It happened very quickly

No time to develop, no end in sight

Hardly touching the beginning

No smile, no pain

Even waiting

Becomes insignificant

The insignificant person recognized another insignificant person

At that moment, everything was completed and my face drooped The curtain, lift it up

It's still a curtain.

Then, there is fire. Self-combustion

You said:

Let’s burn together!

Then, there are ashes

plus yours.

You said:

Ashes are also warm. That distant meeting

Still a list of surprises

You put on a gorgeous mask

My humble loss is a series of shocking data

Your hand is so long, my hesitation is so short

My sad chest listens to the explosion of thunder and lightning

I hold your hand, it is not yours The hand

is just a branch reaching out to me

On the branch, desire is budding

quickly opening up——

Desire crawls Once ashore,

everything was in vain. The days are raining thinly, sometimes it is sunny and raining

Sometimes it is cloudy and raining, sometimes it is strong rain

Sometimes it is thin enough.

She walked a spiral path, sometimes aggressively

Sometimes procrastinating, sometimes hesitant

Sometimes she was quite intoxicated.

Surrounded by a wall, above the head is a life

Puppets carry original sin, shouting inside and outside the wall

There are magnificent figures floating in the air Stubborn disease;

wormwood grows on the wall, and years of humidity

infect the tough silence.

She is tired. Perched on a piccolo.

A string of secrets slipped out inadvertently, traces

Penetrating into the ears of the sky

The void relies on its vastness

Releases warmth The strength, tolerance and calmness.

What lies on that side of the wall?

She expresses herself implicitly, with clarity and turbidity

nurturing the spell at the same time.

She pretended to be awake——

The wind and moon eroded the luster of the rose. As if being blown by a dream

As if being loved by a dream

As if being dyed by boundless blue

As if being robbed by bright red

It’s like being trapped in the hugeness

It’s like being meticulously crazy in the small space

It’s like being willing to do delicate handwork

< p>Like a drunken night in winter

Like the beauty of plum blossoms reunited

Like the clear and irrepressible cold

Like death The escape and pursuit

Like a suffocating and trembling imprisonment

Like endless, endless fetching

Like thousands of times Transfer, never-ending giving

Like endless life

Like leaving home without any help

I always miss you, miss you!

Maybe it’s not your loneliness

but mine

When I go home

I always run away from you!

Maybe I’m not afraid of your depression

But I’m back to my original life, my original sky

. Familiar and customary things

still flow quietly. . . . . .

Nothing has changed, nothing has changed.

Desirable meals, heart-warming wine, and one or two

trivial and considerate actions,

he responded to them reasonably.

The peach trees in the garden bear green fruits

Newly migrating birds are jumping on the railings

He thinks it is time to build a fence Got it!

Grow some vegetables and hang curtains to block your worries.

Of course, before doing anything else,

First of all, he had to remove the hot stone that stuck in his heart

He also had to put in the oath-like letter The burning love letter, before it rains

Take it back like clothes.

He is still thinking: Is it okay not to do this?

He stood up and walked around the house

and sat back down in his original position.

It seems that everything is back to the past.

I took a pen and wrote word by word

From morning to night

Just to write the word "heart"

I took suffering, a Write word by word

Since childhood

Just to write the word "生"

I took my life and write word by word

p>

From beginning to end

Just to write the word "love"