A lesson in autumn
In the fall, I reject an incoming call on the cell-phone of the character.
Outer space is closed, Xun Yu.
Asteroids loom as much as a woman's breast.
The mysterious black hole is like my constant bursting pain, through the outpatient clinic and then to the inpatient department.
Put to the test with a little banter from the surgeon.
The sky is higher and farther, and every fallen leaf carries the taste of harvest.
Like a pear grafted by technology, the fragrance is overflowing.
Like the teeth of a sour pine fox in a dream.
It is like a monk who has attained the Tao and preaches to a child who has come from afar to learn scriptures.
The distance between dreams and square inches, and I, more and more stubbornly believe.
As long as there are walls, as long as there are paintings.
There will be a snail girl coming down from the painting.
Take care of my inner white life.
Stowaways
I spoke no more, with the silence of the eagle.
Catch every wisp of cold that falls through the night.
My body rested on the wood-scented inn, like a monotonous topic cracking through a crack in a pond.
The tide of the years is not alarmed, and the grass of the season is crouched, and the tongue is tongued.
Suddenly licked into the empathetic place, startled a frog chirping.
Friends for many years live together and splurge.
The light that accumulates year by year.
Until the sunset dragged the tired body away, and smuggled the red dust in their respective dreams.
When the tide of our hearts overflows over the ordained believer, we are also distinguished by an unusual erection.
Who in the world does not desire to love each other, and who wants to walk in rats? Let the light and shade go away with laughter.
Ah, I don't answer sad anymore, and I don't shy away from the hot thick liquid in love's mouth.
What should be said will be said, what should be done will be done, and the fault of the moment will be pushed even harder.
Ten thousand cowardly stars
Now there is nothing.
It's as if time has jumped out of the way.
Go to a soft heart.
Settle down and take root
Night, slightly suspicious.
Take a break in the cold wind.
It seems to be for ten thousand timid stars.
Shout and cheer. And me.
It's just a wine-colored person, but he can't hold back his fantasies and give the moon.
Untie the garment. My love is like a flood
My love gushes like a flood from the Black Beast World.
My lips were like a harp with broken strings, whimpering in the wind.
In the age of loud voices, I was like a stubborn child arguing with people.
On the eve of fantasy, leave a cry for the newborn baby.
When the legend once again overflows my heart, I follow the path I have walked a thousand times.
Follow the rustic sound of the leaves whizzing and falling.
Shout the roar of thunder to the starless sky
Perhaps, I am a child who does not grow up, dreaming of crying at night and looking for love.
For thousands of years, I have wandered in the sky, and the rivers have flowed day and night with the shadows of reeds drifting.
History
Turn a page of bustling.
We shake hands with the past.
Wait until the weather is cold.
Then go and enjoy the glory and wealth.
It's dark and windy again.
Veil over and leave a pair.
Eyes that share the bed with the night.
Hold on to this world that needs to be doted on for a lifetime.
With 8,000 children.
We are from the eyes of the black horse.
Passing through the sorrow, Koto.
It's a shameless father and brother.
From the bottom of a steep overhang.
For thousands of years, the flowing river.
It's like the golden iron horse of history.
A whimper to humanity.
In the distance, outside our window.
The stars blinked all night and the eyes were quiet.
Wait for dawn from the throat of the bird.
Eject the ringtone of the phone without **.
Author:Ye Xiaosong, born in 1964, screen name, Prometheus (fire thief), columnist of the Reading Sleep Poetry Society, and a good poet in poetry writing. Some of the poems are included in "Reading Sleep Poems: Spring Blossoms" and "Reading Sleep Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". The language of poetry is unique, the poetry is agile, and he is good at digging out the poetic soil and building the castle of poetry from the silhouette of life. Poetry has its own unique meaning and specialness, and has a certain degree of recognition.
Read the Sleep Poet Shooting.
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life.