"There must be injustice and sadness in the world, but through verse, grievance and sadness can be converted." "Chiang Hsun once said so. Reading poetry is like a process of digestion of sadness, for life to leave some monologue, every week this time, I long for you to leave a time for yourself, parting from the reality of the turmoil, the woman fans only read poems for you.
Why don't we laugh?
On such an autumn night
Wear sandals and step out of the MRT
The crowd is streaming into two worlds.
Away from the escalator.
We've all chosen to climb this side of the ladder.
The most splendid restaurant in the city
One of the best dishes
To talk about love in a roundabout way
As if to share a sci-fi plot
In order to conserve the Earth's resources
We cherish the way we are now
Gave up on each other
--Dating whales to the sea
In the name of poetry 〉〉 in this city, we talk about Love roundabout
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She came to the end of the world
See the Ahan of the next door selling vegetable cakes
--the earth is a round denture.
In the name of the poem 〉〉 the most beautiful, perhaps never in his side
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How to write a song that you can enter
Poetry, as if entering the early morning Park
Rocking the unmanned swing
Occasionally swinging out of a child
Grass, flowers, sunshine.
To make you forget that you're reading.
The image of a slow-running walk on a gentle slope
Fountain Angel thoughtfully
And the hidden flow of rhyme
Just pee in the pool.
How do you start with me
And the life of the poem cannot be
Sad or obscure as your shadow
And not too mundane.
Like the ones you used to remember
Writing a poem seems
The stone chair of the park when I sit down
is old and deep in love
And you stand up.
As if a child
--Park Life 2 Zheng
〉〉 Write a poem to you in the name of the poem
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Dusk, the rain is stopped, the apartment
Between the apartment and the sky could not turn
Sometimes I read your letters in front of the little window
The letter describes the distant climate, just sit down in summer
10 o'clock it was dark, higher than the old bell tower blue
At work, the hair on the arm is quiet.
Like a golden deer.
"There are five days ..." You said on the phone.
Hear the whole world for us
The day is a book
I'll know your bike.
The balcony where you read when the sky is warm.
Like you expected, hate those books on the Cultural Revolution.
For too symbolic of the Chinese decoration
Held in doubt. But I will remember
Every corner of your house
Because you're always following this route.
Get out of there, come to six o'clock.
The old summer of thunder and rain
The sea lives next to me.
and whisper you in the dream
Let the time carry, the long-range train
A nebula down the front
2004. Six. Eleven
Written before departing for Europe.
--Travel rehearsal Yang Jia
To travel together in the name of poetry 〉〉
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To know that I don't have enough
When I'm on a big night
Hiking through the Milky Way
To find those similar reflections on the surface of the water
It's all different people.
As the morning train moves in the fog
I always wake up first
Stand in front of the window, touch the water stains and accumulate dust
See the railway far apart from the scenery
To straighten the tangled heart
I'll be the one to arrive late
When I sent a postcard on the way
Measuring each other's colors
When you leave
A traveler in the face of Homecoming
No one wants to be with you forever
And I just have my own
These days, we cross many other
The sun is coming, the rain is coming
We are always on this plain
The most brooding little town
--Travel Guo Zhe
In the name of poetry 〉〉 in the vast night, only to find their own small
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