"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.

A man is coming out of my body--my fiction,
He whirled in a dusty corner,
As if he were the spirit of the universe. The thorns are full of

Universe, the edge of one of my fingers.
As if a void came from a touch of this finger.
The Sharon Rose, and I pulled down the hood of the sand,
A figure began to speak, and that was the sound of the engine turning:
No drive, no shade
A second later we fell in love, separated and searched again.

-Late at night read a fictional cosmic history Liao Wei

A person gradually out of our bodies, we think nothingness, it is only the beginning of the next wandering.

Looking at everything that's passing by, I thought I swam in the water.

Sometimes I remember sometimes.
Sometimes we'll remember that we were free
Sometimes, like a helpless poached egg, I forget to flip it.

Sometimes I remember dancing and forgot to save the earth.

The light of love is so bright
We can still hide in each other's shadows.
Sometimes I forget to take my umbrella.
Sometimes it's not raining when you open up

Sometimes, hung-hung

In the name of the poem 〉〉 sometimes we just want to have fun .

The wind is dark
The door is sleeping.
Cold and understanding is the rain

All of a sudden I saw
Confusion is called room

Leaking like a coastline
The body is quicksand, poetry is ice.
Cat slight but waterfowl is time

Skirt of the beach
The Dashed flames
Fables to eliminate parentheses in deep

Spot the sensory senses
You're a fog.
I'm a tavern.

--Xiayu Hug

In the name of the poem 〉〉 want you to hold a hug

We even lost the color of dusk.
When the blue Night falls in the worlds,
No one saw us holding hands.

From my window I've seen
A sunset ritual on a distant hilltop.

Sometimes a piece of sun
Between my palms like a coin burns.

In the sadness that you knew
I have remembered you, and the soul is in a convergence.

Where were you, Peter?
What other people are there?
What do you say?
Why when I'm sad and I feel you far away,
All love will suddenly come to you?

As usual during the twilight,
The book fell Down,
My shawl curled up on my feet like a wounded puppy.

Always So,
To erase the statue's direction towards the twilight.
You always disappear through the dusk.

--Neruda, we even lost twilight.

Actually, I'm not even from Hong Kong because
I have no shore only
Those who met were ships, and I was not just
The Gull on the mast
And the blue of the sea is your gaze
and that Blue
That's the very clear lie.
Let's say your
The hypothesis is right.
The Voyage of some ships
Maybe it's the secret movement of Hong Kong.
But why those kisses are anchors
Lips are waves.
Lips are such a dense wave

--Excerpts to the Xiayu

In the name of the poem 〉〉 The Sea is the blue when you stare

has already existed.
Maybe a little farther.
When you were 35 years old
And the place I was 30 years old
Waiting, with the bookcase wall stand together
Watch the Snow punctuation window, scratch the floor, yawn
Just because I can't decide
Should the English version begin to read?
(Ah, he is as diligent and studious as you are) ... )
Think of the time when you must face
Two cats, and you're allergic to it once in a while.
Sneeze in the morning.

The cat we raised together Yang Jia

(a poem: reading Poems and reading poets )