Rock under the moon
◎ Wheat Forest
Break
The mystery of evaporation in high temperatures
Melody, chiseled out in a pine forest
A hole full of debris
Words are stripped of sweat glands and waved
Axe, at the top of a wooden cliff
Free fall. Charred pine cones at the mouth of the bottle
The cracks float, and the spring water comes from the ground
Rushing like a horse – streamlined crystals
Twinkle in the Closed Bible of gothic churches
Nick jumped down the ladder and hid the roof
The Beatles, boxes stuffed into boxes from the power plant
Stolen scrap pickups. Practice in the boiler
Sandwiches, cooled in raised dust
It's like climbing the fence of hell
In the mist, a flock of dead leaf butterflies vibrates their wings
Dying grass mustard in the crevices of the stone
With newborn leaves, blow
The old roots of the mountains
Some kind of reinvention in the air
If you walk between two peaks
Have you ever seen an upside-down tree throw seeds at them?
In the sky, the temple enshrines the idols on another planet
A broken bridge is built, and a partridge spreads one wing of ink
Spread over the green mirror that sways in the wind
Those that gather or spread out freely
Rise or fall particles, along with the madness
Evolutionary chains experiment one by one. And I'm standing
A transparent umbilical cord is helpless
What kind of water and soil is needed
Bearing the weight of life? How sunny and
Can air hold back the lightness of many souls?
A polished carving knife from the rocks that were crammed in front of him
Peeling out. Behind him are roses
Crown and a vague mask
A carriage ran over the mirror and scattered the sky
Mixed with raindrops turned into piles of wooden houses in the forest
Arched. Ceramics and sculptures under flames, knives and axes
Open your ignorant eyes while flowers and plants and stones
Images that have long been inhabited by seven ins and eight crookeds. Bees chew
Maltose flew over the figurative lake
The broken ship hides in a deep cave underwater
Secretly rubbing the rust spots of blue, black and purple
Stand-in for the mountain
When the last piece of paper is in hand
It also transformed into the appearance of the old mountain behind the house
I had nothing more to say and pounced on the one on the bookshelf
Chattering sparrows, released into the wild
Every winter, I climb the mountain again and again
Keep in mind where the dew drops fall on the scalp
Layers of banana leaves hide squirrels or a flower
Withered flowers. Anglers by the pond
Practice the art of throwing rods and rubbing bait, while thorn vines always love
Writhing from time to time in the fog, dressed up as mischievous
prank. The trails up the hill are always paved
Thatch, looking down the hill as soft as it was
Leaning against a wooden door with an oil lamp
There are sick trees, old birds
It seems to be a broken stream and a delicate pine tower
Artemisia that gathers together for exploration can be built into a fortress
Strange stones, and rotten blades that have been stepped on underfoot
And every time I go down the mountain, my heart is always filled with one
The stand-in for the mountain, as if this were my identity
It is also the dowry that I bring with me when I walk in the world
soot
Walking in the smoke, the sidewalk is
A tape stuck in the throat
The trees are hazy and the leaves curl up in the partitions
End-of-life fruit buried deep in gravel
The fields are covered with masonry tiles
People covered them with torn fishing nets
Courtyard wall, boiling plastic into granules
to feed the livestock. Green trash cans
The inverted buckle guides the way at the intersection
The cuckoo breaks its wings to act as a tombstone
Round needles poured with cement pierce into the ground
Rearranged, with muscles and veins misaligned underfoot
Squeak. I saw wildfires
Ignited from the end, on the left and right of the peaks
Jumping sideways, the lake is deep and steaming
Chilling drum bags
Pulling up the ground on the side of buildings and ravines
The earthen house, at this moment, is all crooked
We seem to be out of the sun's trajectory
Only grumpy rabbits, skimming over the roots of the wall
Jail snails
Open a door and close it again
The empty sound reverberated like a snail
Hang alone halfway up the mountain. so
What about adding an iron lock to the iron door?
So there seems to be one
More sturdy house. You look around like a toad
The back of the fermented wall, inexplicably emerging
Flowers. Ceilings within easy reach with children
The oil pen draws clouds and the sun. You gently smooth it out
The grass gray snake line arched on the tentacles will be carried on the back
The house was neatly and orderly, caffeine
Dissolved in a pond full of tea stains, it did not
As bitter as usual. You see the whole top of the mountain is one
Press the maple grove full of red handprints, and you are crawling here at this time
In the afterglow of a certain sunset. Strong winds at night
Gravel bulldozes the house, and you put stones on them to reinforce them
There's rain slapping you hard into the dirt, and you're excited
Shouting that this is the taste of home. You know
At dawn, the crooked strip behind me was white and tender
Traces cannot be concealed
Tonight, the moon hangs on the tip of the mountain
The wind of Nirvana passes through the mirror surface continuously
Teasing the solidified snow. From yesterday
The dying escape of the nightingale in the branches
Sprinkle joy, the eaves of the roof down the top of the head just
Horns that grow and pierce wildcats
A dream frozen beneath the surface of a lake
Tick-tock. The moonlight hands push away
Wooden doors, foraging lambs look up
Look at the mountain peaks that are as red as peppers
Honeysuckle flowers raced by the rocks
Drums are beaten, and pines draped in mourning clothes are draped
Dance steps in the clouds. We
Tearing the rock trumpet rolls up
Snowball, Pregnancy Physics Formula
The drafts, to the flowers all over the place
Wedding hall. Carnival of fantasy
It's like a group smoking marijuana under the moon
A white rat fleeing from the laboratory
Drink pungent disinfectant water and use
The teeth broke the one that cut through the skin
A scalpel with beats in the body
withered
As I saw
The water pipe under the sink is after shaving
Stones coagulate blood, rats
In the unknown area of the study
Rub the can with your teeth
I sat on the couch and looked out over the balcony
Neatly arranged pots of green lotus
They wrinkle their faces and move their bodies
Indent into the darkness and into the light
Dust is like a grass snake
Hanging in the middle of the house
The great white rabbit gradually weakened on the coffee table
Strawberries and cherries collapsed in
A fruit plate filled with heating
The goldfish with its tail crooked in the fish tank
The ventral fins cannot be swung again, only
At night, its white cheeks will swell a few mouthfuls
Then it exploded silently on the surface of the water
Waiting for guests to come
The bookshelves are quaint, in the shadows
In the swallowing, there was a yellow halo
A circle of smoke, hitting the pebbles
Knock out the echo of dripping water
At this point he was sitting upright, one by one
On an old bamboo chair missing one leg
Slender fingers, hidden in white gloves
Tie a knot without sound
Potholed tabletop, under the gaze of the surrounding spots
Brew a pot of dragon well. The heat that bubbles up from the small eyes
Quickly drifted away and disappeared into the entrance road
Grandma picked up the scattered ones by the door
A few hairs, hunched back into the cupboard
Books on the shelf, forced to hold back
The urge to fly out. A seven-star ladybug
Rolling down the petals of the night incense, the moonlight came from overhead
An inch was pressed down, reaching into its empty back
garland
The phone swallowed a big mouthful
Dust, ticking in the ticks of the walls
The skeleton of the shepherd is placed
At the dinner table, missing from the crowd
A rib. Inserted diagonally into the roof
Totem pole, willing to accept the slaughter of rain
Just like they were at night, with blood stains
Stones, huge vessels for sacrificial blowing whistles
Chains pierced the snow of the valley, parallel to the tracks
Pushed to crossover. Cheap dead souls
Step out of the house, along the sunken bricks
Wander between the construction site and the sea. Bloated and
Aging French girl, standing
Moonlight poured in front of tall buildings
Wrap tightly. A grain of a steel gun raised
Sand fell from above, the muzzle of the black hole hole
Aim at the woman's head, the dead
Woven garlands, in cement mixing
As dim as a lonely grave
Born in Xi'an in 1999, Mai Xiansen is a member of the Shaanxi Youth Literature Association, and his poetry works have been published in Poetry Journal, Stars, Poetry Monthly, Yanhe and so on.