谁在闪电深处,看见那一只美丽的乳房恍若秋天果实落地时的阵痛?而空气的骨血被缓慢的呼吸抽干,冷,不只是温度抖落的判罚。思想的伦理落在一只候鸟眼中,一个朝代土崩瓦解,废墟上的种子,受到道德的看守,表达过于软弱,文字被赋予形状,春天有更多的行人,朝四面八方走去。落日抵达回归线,像是赶赴自己的葬礼。 Who is in the depths of lightning, saw that a beautiful breasts reminding us of scenes fall pain when the fall of fruit? The air of the blood is slowly breathing dry, cold, not just the temperature shake off the penalty. The ethics of thought landed in the eyes of a migratory bird. A dynasty collapsed. The seeds on the ruins were morally guarded. The expression was too weak. The text was given a shape. In spring, more pedestrians walked in all directions. Arrived at the tropic of sunset, like rushed to his own funeral.