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一我说浮云,已被喧动的雨水戳穿。枝条上描绘着花朵,是柔软的春天,是温柔的风中淬火的铁。跟紧自己的脚步迈入透明的心情。窗前的群鸟叫醒了一个个早晨的迷雾。叫醒独坐一首诗歌大境中的乡下人。如果与我相关,那是贫寒的实际生活被修辞的语句,千百次地冶炼。那是俗世里的羁绊,膝盖上的伤痛与血绽开的理性之葩。一条反复引用的哲言,在崭新的土地上抽芽。遗忘和舍弃,落叶林雕塑了冷冬的纪念碑。刚硬的枝条刺破紧裹的冰雪、阴霾,内心的河流温热而青翠,谁在默默地隐涵什么,铭刻什么,光亮而细密,情感、心灵与时间的角力。
As soon as I said that the clouds had been pierced by the raging noise. The branches are painted flowers, are soft spring, the iron is quenched in the gentle wind. With the pace of their own into a transparent mood. The birds in front of the window wake up one morning fog. Wake up alone in a poetic country in the context of the country. If it is related to me, it is the rhetorical phrase of the poor real life that is smelt hundreds of times. That is the fetish of the earthly world, the pain of the knees and the blooming rational of blood. A repeatedly quoted philosophical word sprouted in new land. Forgotten and abandoned, deciduous forest sculpture cold winter monument. Rigid branches pierced the ice and snow wrapped tightly, the haze, the heart of the river is warm and green, who implicitly what, engraved, bright and detailed, emotion, soul and time.