I lurked at the bottom of the silence
Escape the hustle and bustle
I want to grow with silence
Prophetic birds
Hint with their shape
A high hill
By Capovez
Aim at the mind
A few feathers fell into the wings, meaning and
The true Fall makes little difference, or me
They will discipline themselves inside the skin bag, but this is not possible
Restrain the flesh to seek pleasure, and the wings are re-plumped wings
I'm still in the form of a Taoist monk, and I have to put my arms first
And together, blocking the darkness with false tenderness, but possibly
She was a fiery body, and I was in a dream
Embracing countless times, the grass has also burned countless times
Maybe, roaring at the lion, I thought what to do
Describe my sadness, and anger, one after another
The flames stretched the lion's mocking expression
Finally the trigger was pulled
Sometimes, forgetting is like a tidal wave that has obliterated itself
Not quite sure who will be forgotten in the next moment, there are also
It could be who no longer thinks of whom. The sky gives to those
The constellations that have been running for hundreds of millions of years have left a good place, Kitchen Lady
Probably a few points up at the waist? Blood-red eyes looked
Behind him, the mirror is shining brightly, wonderful people, why are you trembling
Stop being confused by the days, it simply doesn't exist
Nostalgia for another what beauty, often silent fig
Withering to the ground, I stepped on the muddy and slippery them
Infinite disgust, infinite thoughts
Hemingway's shotgun
Insomnia in the gentle sea, darkness wandering around
Where the mushroom appears, that's where the antelope screams
Reason, the whisperers in the crowd had only half a face left
Inside and outside the high-speed rail station, I wore an N95 mask and walked into the carriage
Such a great number of seats, because it was so strange to me
I can't hear the rain falling, it's purely a verb, golden wind and jade dew
Once met, went far away in search of my greedy, old photographs
I drove the Siberian carriage, the tyrannosaur of the museum
Suddenly dressed in rags, in the same waves
Blue is bluer, and the obscure hills are slow
Skimming by like starlight
The one who cares about it also
The arrow is not to be explored, it is to be hidden in the vast moment
The rest of the midnight, the owl said, no matter who it was
Instead of letting the two skeletons, inseparable, in unison
I'm under your window, listening to the wailing of autumn worms, this day
From the luan tree to the dangui, the clematis was desperately entangled
They shake and touch their arms, and the next time they give birth
The grey cat gritted its teeth, and before that, and from then on
I planned to get older and more haggard, and I missed myself
Growing fast, aging fast, that's how
How flying, thunder can not hide the ears
illustration
deborah quinn-munson
opus