Three other poems in "Southern Poets".

"Southern Poets"

Yes, think about it, what else will be

Through you, yes, to your heart, what kind of affection to keep

Anyway, if you have nothing to do, you might as well close the book

The devil was not far from the street, and a loud snoring sounded in the sky

We will enjoy the fragrance and deliciousness in the soy sauce-colored love

But are you okay, you can't ask me how I am

Or say me, to your friend, male

In the moment of slow occurrence, the wind will be fine

Got into my neck and started to be melancholy, and the rain

Southern, long and amorous rain

I'll open the window, in that place that's more south than the south

The sky I weave with words is hardly dirty

"The Depths of Childhood"

She ran over and I ran after her

After the age of three, we begin to be nostalgic, what is in our hearts

The sun, the river, the small fish on the lobster, and speculation

Mother's secret, secret floats across the stone bridge

But the south was rainy, then wet

swept the hair and immature little hands

But the hand does not yet understand its meaning, two irregular partners

Steal corn that doesn't know the current affairs and roast it slowly over a wildfire

Little girl, I don't understand what she loves here

A little gray story about a hero and a dog in the water

When we can't tell, we use our mouths

When she bit the apple of the blush with her small mouth

And hid in the depths of my childhood "still disappeared ........."

Diary of a Poor Man

But we don't have anything in our words, we just don't have anything

Nothing more, someone in front of my window

The big, big window suddenly went away and went around behind me

Sir, I didn't really promise you

For the song I won't write, and I won't cook

I have nothing on my hands, and the hat is borrowed

Including the soul, the green trees and the starry sky, is your daughter okay, sir

My ticket is expired, and the tip of my pen is in my hand

After three floods at the intersection, my blood was surging in the evening

My heart, but nothing grows there

By the way, I'm poor, I don't have faith

So you can't see the poem

My quilt is a soft sky, and the land is full of my dreams

"Infection on the Mind"

The horses on my body write freedom in the shade of the trees

I must be sorting out, the powder of thoughts

They squirmed, yes, just like they were supposed to be

The shade of the trees began to shake, like a lamp burning in the rain, a lamp in childhood

Will they be like that, in my memory

In the winter, I want to go downstairs, and now, the name of the neighbor

I'm making it up, and there's something else to calculate

My hands are changing, getting softer

The one that flew over my head, the rainbow, the man from the window

Throwing in a sock, he stood behind my ear

My ears used to hear, a slow infection in my thoughts