I swam with those blades, and sooner or later, I emerged from the sharpness.
Like a real image being torn apart in a sharp pain.
But now it’s a lonely time after work. The sun is hidden in everyone’s heart and the birds are looking for it.
Father’s face was covered with tears, and many shadows were melting uneasily by the fire.
Cow hair removal exposes weak bones and stubble injury in winter. How I want to take it into the sunshine.
I can get information about my hometown in winter. It snowed heavily in the cemetery behind my house that year.
A line of my footprints
In the accumulation of heavy honor and disgrace forever and ever, peeling off the bird cloud summarizes all the trembling
You are the river.
I am also a river.
Shugenhe
Roots, I gather in your sinking roots, and seeds are scattered around me.
I’m walking in the gloomy spring, and your fingers are sticking into my swollen limbs.
You are a little ray of hope.
Quietly perched under the cover of bird feathers.
Those roots were taken away by the morning, and I took my own head and followed them.
The water is crowded together like a mother on the rock. The five senses want to see, hear and reach out.
The grass is broken in my direction, and the flowers are always surrounded.
Go to Fangshugen. I didn’t lose it. I lost you for a month
Some fishbones and some anchors break a gap in spring.
Sweep all the remaining fragments into my heart
I sip the roots of the tree with one hand and the other.
The flickering fish scales gradually turned to a strong smell, and I saw human beings at a glance.
I held my hand in the root of the tree and touched a material casually. The sun and wolves smiled not only all around.
I took one road as another in the roots, and I knocked over the land and rivers in the roots.
My hair was knocked down in rows in the wind, and the rain was my summer eyelids.
It’s liquid. My eyes are always low
I raise them when I touch them, and they raise myself very much.
Use your face as wings to block everything, and solve everything in a place covered with dark roots.
I stretched out my palm in the maple.
The mourners woke up together, and my thoughts were rotten at the moment of spring flowers, and I sat there motionless
Some pimples will always stop at the roots of wings and I will fight you.
I went to the warm land in the dark, and people gathered in groups to bask in the sun with their arms.
So I became some people’s lips, alcohol and tongues, and some people’s mothers.
I have to walk through the crowd again to myself, and my roots must be replanted in the clear water of lotus flowers, and the moon shines on me.
I want you to cross all rivers and enter the wild crowd in large numbers. I have to go deep.
Rotten soil sleeps in my arms and just sits in a bulging posture. I wear a water bottle around my waist and people weigh it.
When you put the spring breeze out of your body, everything will converge, and you will breathe in everyone’s breath and sleep soundly
You put yourself quietly into the crowd, and you heard the sun in your ears.
All your love or hate after your thick skeleton steps into the season in the snow-covered Sichuan.
They all cry forever in the wheat field again, far more than in another wheat field.
You can hear the roots of trees, and there may be a river beside you.
Maybe it’s the four seasons, maybe it’s your breeding years, maybe it’s your lover, maybe it’s your own eyes.
Along with insect wat converted into fragrance.
Everything is thought so deeply.
Think of water as a digging moment and fire as a red trunk to pour out.
I regard my mother as a mother river that steps into a string of tears in the distance
A trail of tears