Three other poems in the "Winter Solstice Book".

The Book of the Winter Solstice

To be alive is to be alive, and life is just dust to you,

Just the collision of one drop of rain and another,

"And the tears that shed in your dreams"

Time is a consumable, your room is piled with broken books,

Youth is an IOU......

Are you thinking about her face, go up a little and go up a little more,

It's the night and a cat,

The wind is blowing, and you refuse to talk about your dreams

"It's not a dish of smoked meat and garlic stir-fried yet"

We have been diligent for so many years, and we have worked hard without merit.

The years are just a passing stroke

Exile from this city to that city,

Look at the sky in silence, silence at eight o'clock?

"No, you nervous man" yes, so many days and nights

My heart was packed into a sealed bag and on my way to winter......

Hitler's Protégé? 》

Friends, you are all vulgar

My poems are poems only if I maintain the nobility of my bloodline

It should be printed, and it should be worshipped by all people, my woman

It's a rose, and my palms have no aftertaste, just alcohol and sleeping pills SPAN>

Yes, I swallowed loudly under the window"

Poetry will,

There will be love, too, looking back, the strangest is unexpected

It is the outline of love and her growing alienation, it must be the dazzling sunset,

Yes, you, and you, why are you still writing poems, this time the sunshine

Falling on my back, even my mother's pickles were nobler than mine

"You haven't found a job yet?"

No, mom is biting my tail by the times

Running in Poetry

If you are like the wind, dreams are stones rolling among flowers and plants,

That night, is it a person's name? The prosperity is gone

People like sand swinging in the wind, is this really free?

My eyes are full

The green of the earth, isn't it autumn now, it is the most fruitful of the year

The most desolate hour,

In the evening, the sunset is flooded with dust.

What are you thinking, family happiness or the rude mother-in-law.

Oh, you, why don't you come to my poem

Be the gentleness of bowing your head, and be a gust of wind to send away the fallen leaves

What else do I dare not do, set fire to the poem

Burn this and that spring

At night, the lines of poetry I buried were dug out by the roots

January 25

Get used to being alone, get used to a smile on the left side of your face

Accustomed to hypocrisy, language and youthful novels

Yes, times are different" We don't just run in words

Walking on the edge of reality: "It only takes a knife to build the world."

and another knife,

Do you believe it, love, I don't know anyway

Just give it a try, hang your head and listen to trendy songs

Be willing to follow the waves, be good at chasing the current, and be close to the breeze

Transform the shoulders, put it all over Jiangnan, and carry a bag,

And my father, whose back is the mountain, and his hand is the road,

His voice was a hammer, two strikes at once

Beat my eardrums. The wind seeped into the room

The past is silent, tomorrow, will it be very Tailai?