Modern Poetry
abysm
深渊
Ya Xian
I want to survive, no other addition; the same time I found his unhappiness.
- Saudi Arabia
Children often get lost between your hair Heights
The initial spring rapids, hidden behind the pupil in your barren
Shouted some years. Expand the body the night of the festival.
In the toxic moonlight, in the blood of the Delta,
Snake stood up for all the soul, toward a hanging on the cross
Worn on the forehead.
We cooked with barbed wire wheat. We are alive.
Billboard rhythm through the sad, dirty cement through the shadows
Across from the rib of the release of the soul in prison,
Alleluia! We are alive. Walk, cough, debate,
Cheek to account for part of the Earth.
Nothing is now dead,
Today's cloud clouds copy yesterday.
In March, I heard shouting cherry.
Many tongues, shaking out the spring, fall. The green fly bites her face,
Between the fork legs from some kind of dress swing; and desire of people to read her
To enter her body of work. In addition to death and this,
Nothing is certain. Survival is the wind, survival is the sound of threshing ground,
Survival is, to them - love being diaphragm limb -
Pour over the summer desires.
Deep bed at night throughout the fall. A walk on broken glass
Fever, and the light at the end sound. A flurry of persecution of farming tools.
The meat of the translation of a peach, a spell with a kiss of
Terrible language; an acquaintance of blood and blood, a flame, a tired!
A violently pushed her profile
At night, everywhere in the fall of Naples bed.
I sat in the shadow of the end of a woman. She cried,
Duchesnea indica baby buried between the sub and the saxifrage......
The next day we see the same cloud, laugh, drink plum juice,
In the rest of the personality of the dance floor dancing to do.
Alleluia! I'm still alive. Head high, shoulders,
Carrying the existence and nonexistence,
Carrying a pair of pants in the face.
Whose turn is it next time I do not know; promised a church mouse, the promise is the weather.
We are far to bid farewell to the long hated the umbilical cord.
Lip kissing, religion, printed on the face,
We are each burdened with the lid hanging around!
And you are the wind, a bird, is the sky, there is no export of the River.
Stand up carcasses is gray, not to bury the dead poetry.
No one outside of us to pull out the earth. Close your eyes and see life.
Jesus, you can hear his brain whispered Mang thriving voice?
It was beat in sugar beet fields below, under the myrtle was in the......
While some face like a lizard-like color, how to torrent
Reflection of the statues? When their eyes glued to the
Most black history that several pages?
And you is not;
Not blow off the stick in the face of the era,
Not wrapped around his head to the dawn of the dance.
There is no shoulder in this city, you will be smashed the end of the book on the third day to go for paper.
You wash your face in the night, you fight with the shadow,
Estate you eat, eat dowry, eat the dead were a little cry,
You come out from the house, and walked in, rubbing his hands......
You are not.
How can we increase the force to the flea's legs?
Injection of the pipes in the music, so blind drank Fremont!
This is absurd; in Spain
People with a wedding cake is not inferior to vote for him!
And we are all mourning. Spend a morning touch his clothing or jewelry.
Later his name written on the wind, written on the flag.
Later, he would throw us
He ate the remaining life.
See, to pretend to worry about, the time to smell the rotten smell
We can no longer too lazy to know who we are.
Work, walk, pay tribute to the bad, smile and immortality.
They are the people who clenched motto!
This is the day the face; all the sore moan, hidden under a skirt full of bacteria.
City, scales, paper moon, pole wood words
(Today's notices on the notice was posted yesterday)
The sun made the cold-blooded flutter from time to time
Sandwiched in two nights
Between the white abyss.
Years, the cats face years,
Years, close to the wrist, the name of semaphore years.
In the mouse cries of the night, had slain no longer be killed.
Tomb of grass they use a bow tie, between the Lord's Prayer chewed Chifeng.
No head really will rise among the stars,
Wash the blood in the glorious crown of his Jing.
When the year of the tenth five quarters in March, heaven is in the following.
We erected a monument for the last moth. We are alive.
Sowing the seeds in the palm, between the breasts out of the moonlight,
- It folded around layers of the rotation of the night you have your copy
Enchanting and beautiful, they are yours.
A flower, jug of wine, a tease, a date.
This is the abyss between the mattress in the pillow, elegiac couplet like pale.
This is the fairy who tender face, this is the window, which is a mirror, this is a small compact.
This is a laugh, this is blood, which is untied ribbons treat!
That night, Maria, like the rest of the wall of an empty box, she fled,
To find water to wash Lethe humiliation she heard.
This is an old story, like a revolving door; functional, functional, functional!
When the morning I was just taking a basket full of the criminal street selling,
Thorn-head sun in my eyes.
Alleluia! I'm still alive.
Work, walk, pay tribute to the bad, smile and immortality.
For the survival, watch the clouds and look for the cloud,
Cheek to account for part of the Earth......
Stopped in the Congo river, where a sleigh;
No one knows why it was so slippery far
No one knows a sleigh parked in there.
May 1959
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