白纸头疼。中毒的山看着身着糖衣的船,泊在毛笔们,似有似无的年龄中。药粒,是舱里裸着身子的怀旧。旧曰子的胡须在岸上挂着,像是遗像中黑白的线条,正在用手势的影子说话。被松鼠放弃的还有村寨的炊烟,和戴着簪子的名字。我把她们用诗歌的毯子裹着,一望,一春的江水。再一望,一世的江水。只是江字冤枉,被我一次次地写错。 White headache. Poisoned mountain looked dressed in sugar-coated boats, parked in the brush, seems to have no age. Pills, nostalgia of the nude body in the cabin. Old beard beard hanging on the shore, like the black and white lines in the portrait, is the shadow of gestures to speak. Squirrels have abandoned the village of smoke, and wearing a hairpin’s name. I put them wrapped in a blanket of poetry, a look, a spring river. Another look, I of the river. Just word wronged, I was wrong to write again and again.