作者信箱 留言板

◎ Verbiage and Compass (阅读3782次)

The old codes will revive inside my body
Those incoming incantations will be fulfilled that
My pale shadow vanishing into the pinpoint of this mortal world exhibits
The enchantment itself on the forehead of the lorn firmament  

To new successors: they are more lonely and devout
Walking in the indiscernible siege of privations. The gift
We left can’t help anything, even the solid oars
Having the possibility to transform into the overcast/burden

I am anxious at those non-existing that we can’t see
Yet forget the tragedies hidden in the mere beings
I should resist the presence, and return the non-existing objects
Back to those afar. And today we will finish the job of the constant dread

This moment is the golden time for you to return home
That kind of bronze is flying in the center of the woods
I have in your exquisite description with a soft voice
Seen the everlasting balance between the magnificence and us  

The old tradition is lost in our hands. We are innocent
Nor depressed. No one could criticize us the way it is
The thought of woe is even worse than the truth
We only miss the elegance in the old time, yet we are still on the road

From the broad road to the trail, from the leading actor to the supporting role
The transients sigh for their lost salon to return, but we the proletarian
If we belong to proletarian, were born into this world, what
Can we complain? The beauty of a plastic rose is still a beauty

After all the eternal truth is settled. What would happen next
We are not capable to prophesy. Our suspects are full of traps
Yet today, today we are barred in a secluded corner
And the wit still can hear our faint murmurs out of the tumult

The shape looks negligible, but the most developed human mixture
Has not formed yet. I know the component, if it is not the core
Of the core, is the most profound grain. In every fine grain
There lives a soul, even if decayed, still as though the spectral daze

Show us the mirage, in the machine, in the flying spaceship
We will accept novel inventions, including sins and tears in the new world
And survive in those apathetical smiles, or the constantly changed cause
When we review today’s anxiety, fear, confusion, and degeneration    

You will find the chain-ring puzzle within the inconsistent fact
Yet the chain-ring puzzle contains a clear order that I do not have any insight
Even the chain-ring puzzle itself falls into the turbid stream of imagination
And the fact: Isn’t it a straight log?

Swing over the head, herd to the prairie  
From the lowerland. Does it matter I see it or not?
Return to the internal silence, those yonder are still in silence
Covering my face. Nothing is sophisticate

Emphasize one of them, yet the emphasis is transient
The eternity lines up, yet the balance has thousands of scales
Endless scales, and the adininfinium beam, which
Exhibiting a shred of evidence in this world only exists in my heart

I wish it is not a bubble melting into thin air, instead an ordinary person
Who exists, from his handwriting which I can read
Though you still can’t tell if I had the confidence or made my mind
That I already started the journey on a piece of papyrus

Anything could survive, with a fairy tale or a trademark
On its face. I don’t care about your right, nor protect
The arrangement and position of words in my heart
The machine extracting abstract, follows him. Curtains up!

The followings are under the lead of four seasons, to some extent
Also in your hands, so I have some humble concerns
I know it is a part of the caecum. Being an irresolute chess player
With one chessman in my left hand, I am taking another one in my right hand

I know clearly the trend in my future, but why
Can’t I appreciate the magnificent presence? The twisted presence
And the grandiose past? The sands neglected in foliage of a phoenix tree
Are counted one by one, but I have no idea what to do with them

Tangled with time, the fragility and the clogged darkness
Casted in the shadow, creep into the timeless land
It is almost the destiny, though I am so innocent
Maybe better sit down to get a brief rest

Facing to the unfamiliar object, at least it looks like
One part of an impasse. I pick up one
To get in, maybe there is no way in, and I am forced out
With a bowl of dirty water, leftovers, and an angry cry  

If I can get in, it doesn’t matter if any accident
May happen, even with the finale of death
Though it is too extreme, not an iota of the chance
I can imagine approximately what may occur next

A little kid knows nothing, with deep sorrow
Trapped in a little prison with grille
“Please Sir, let me out, I will buy whatever you have”
Several coins rolling lonely on the ground

Maybe a lady, filled with lust, is still
Sedate. Soft encounter slips away
Away. The apathetical group farewells to all
like a wisp of marijuana smoke, and all will be forgotten

A machine, why not the space likes a machine?
If the stuff is exactly the same as in your bag
How funny is it when you get back home? What
Do you want to sell to the world, on this pile of trash?

The conscience and the following raindrops
Fell off from the forehead into the heart. Crying
In the cold winter, I became another kind of Gipsy
On the snow highway, wishing for an exit to my tranquility

Does it make any sense discussing the center of the storm while standing
Outside the storm? We are far away from the outside, even out
Of our bodies. Let them discuss their gardens, terrain, earth and songs
Of insects. We are here with us, and we will tell who wants to listen

They already exist, oh no, they were born along with you
In your unalloyed darkness, their sensitive ears have already caught up
The richness, like the finest tone of the melody. Meditating upon
The bitter wine, how can you tell the taste in the core?

Although the shapes are similar, I can’t find the test paper
That already changed color. Like the difference of flights of one inch and five-thousand feet
It is not the gesture, neither the color that we want. It is the range
Within the range, we have escaped from the prison  

Where did I stand, while talking about the core?
Comparing with outsiders, I am the same.
Where is he who is depressed because of us? Yet he in the core keeps silent
They have their problems to deal with, but they don’t have to tell us

Acting like us, I in fact is still the one and the group
Similar like his shadow and ghost, concealing himself
From the loneliness, literally, choosing the powerful
Lies, yes lies, to make the loneliness satisfied

So expose the part that I can’t control at the tail, how to unmask
My own trick? My opinion about the next generation is: in fact there are
A whole bunch of different people, with the names of priests, sailors
Or whatever. I don’t care what kind of titles they wear

They are passing by, now and then. I will
Show my principle, but not the moment in the past
Representing one part of the public. Maybe it really means it
My direction looks more straightforward than the succession of the seasons
More like my brother’s name, in the winter, I initiated
The story with the longing tone: it is not the decade, so I must
Clarify, not the decade, but the sands of time falling
Through an endless fissure along my finger

My life is full of various miracles. In the ear-shape
Wood chamber, in the thick shadow of plum flowers
No one can see her soft dancing posture, when the world
Sinks into the aged wine, splashing a rosy halo on top of the head

She is in my lung, but I am ravished with the elf
She is in my stomach, but I fall deeply into my dream
Such a pity, we lost the last chance to escape
The red-hair child opens his eyes, disappears in oblivion  

Every miracle, has one wisp of black mystery
Every mystery, has one layer of drawers with fortune-wheel
Switching on and off. The ghosts meander with the moonlight
My shoulder is under your rejoicing wet arm

Getting closer to the emptiness, for the last
Accomplishment, my firm and beauteous shadow conceals
My maudlin and timid heart. The flimsy cloak
Drapes over my shoulder. In the finale, something flows away

Burn the map, shrink my size
The object expands, Oh no, only recovers
From the very beginning. I referr to the shape
Not the content. The inside story, who knows?

Priest? Sir? Not natural?
None of them. It is confirmed, so don’t mention
The sad story anymore. In the basket
The gray snow piles up at the corner, like a greyhound

The toy, the small gift left for whom
I don’t know, Tony. Don’t ask me, Jane
I know nothing about it. If you persist, it is only
A teardrop, in a sentimental dream

You will see, I am sure you will, at the corner
One dog, stands up, circles around
A lovely bone, swims into the depth
Of the light. The lovely bone, used to have
An intact structure, jumping, and laughing
On your earth. Oh please, please don’t
Lead us the wrong way. Here we go, a dream
From here. A withered tree reminisces about the vicissitude

Push down further, along the last sentence, the last word
Based on my humble talent, how could I reach the eternity?
Even with the colorful illusion, I have to stop at the third sentence, or
The second. There are no piles of broken porcelain, neither the sheen like gold

Flood into the heart of the forth sentence and
Stop there. Hanging in the middle, I only scribble
The great dedication finished in a sloppy way. Wandering into the strange land
The history continues rolling without hesitation, but with a broken chain

Tied in the cleavage between ribs, when do you think it will break?
When will the disaster happen? Maybe in
The first sentence, the first word already predicts the future
From the hidden engine, roaring in the foaming room

We can not see, neither can we find
Under the guide of the God, the perfect shell, as good as it
Gets. It is doomed. Whatever you do in the journeying
At this moment, is doomed. Next moment, you are plummy.

That particular moment, the year, or the hour
Will fade into forgetfulness. 1994, fresh?
Cherishable? For intellectuals on the earth
Everything is old, before born into this world.  

The original character, finally found by the ponderer
From the clueless lawn, not cheated, only disguised
As those simple rendezvous in youth
Falls into abyss. Who can fish the darkness out?

With the help of a complicated machine? How long
do we have to struggle on this road? Why not just go ahead, like Bunin
Glancing around, or taking off glasses to produce the masterpiece of abstract
In the imaginary light, the bible is chequered with the soft shade of flowers

The debonair amenities can’t conceal the powerless distress
The accurate and perfect dream swings on the right scale of
The balance. Your destiny is right there, as if the finger print
But not the wrinkle, spending the rest of his life on the forehead of the sunset

My old days, just like yours
Disappear in the dusty eventide. Your tears
Taste same as mine, but we are rather aloof, sitting
Apart. And we have to go through the endless days together  

I was so afraid that I would miss you, or a good guy
Like you. But I don’t believe it anymore
It doesn’t mater, with or without the god
Let’s say it, and I will say it with alacrity  

I said it, so what? The world, and nihility, won’t change at all.
In the deep well, they are waiting for fools like you and me
All of us will be trapped there. Don’t cry
All of us will be very delighted when trapped there

Time becomes shorter, which is most essential
The shortened time built upon a joyful kingdom
Why can’t we reach in advance, along the shining blade or the string?
I am shivering, and I hear the cynical remarks on my strategy

I am beneath the whole world. I am the spring of the darkness
I am smaller than the smallest, but bigger than an ant
And the sage where the ant hides. I can’t see the show
Produced by them, under the starry night and the evanescent illusion

A big lime-stone on the top, like the perfect snow flake, or
The melancholy that we can’t bear. But I am a stitch in time
Shoring the house up by a gown is too fragile
Facing such a bizarre scene, I do not stir an eyelid

The possibility of the incoming danger is close to that of
Turning the color of my hair to white, as if two brown prattlers
Staring at each other over the mirror. How far is it under the scale
Of this world? Alas, I will be weary of mysteries in my rest life.      

From the insight and the starting point, the body gets no chance to
Blow. They pray in their own way. They slip into the abyss
The parade encourages my decadent sentiments down
To the layer you have to peel through to see the flash in the core

Put the time and grammar in fetters, finish the only
Journey named nihility, with no phrase used in concentration camp
Because they are too big, neither fit in the golden section nor the body shape
Of beings. Even the base of the smallest finger is too generous

Restrained admiration overstepped the air, the class. Last night
When I took a shower, it has captured the fort of my skin pores,
Secreting colorless fluid, became a part of the labor
In fact it is the tears from rebels, washing off the disgrace in the past

The skeleton is like a maze, and the protagonist is everywhere
The disturbed program makes me dizzy, and the speed, the weep of the shadow
One second after another second, the tense, and the feebleness
If I slice everything in the middle, do you believe we will produce miracles and the Enlightenment?

With whatever techniques, we have to find a starting point
Within the limitation of the freedom, though the evanescent axis
Is blended in the icy spring mist. The monitor shows all the possibilities
But I only care one. I will be able to rest with the one I care

The spirit of Boy Scout is the source of the sentence
Yet the loneliness is still there, touched by aliens, sprouting fungus
On the street where the chains are forged in profusion, I suddenly
Wake up at midnight by my constant worry of the union

One revolution, at least damages the earth, so the new cause
Burgeons, but the ghost hand pushing the sentence down makes me discontent
The melon picked before maturity is not mellow, but the arsenic tastes mellow  
Helping the strong tide over a crisis, the non-existing is hit by the panic

Hide yourself in the dark. The virus in the air is only good
For those on the road, maybe better for those with no way out. Reading books
Until the end of the day we rest, I am struggling with the cadence in one
Movement. The sweat drops on the hot plate, bubbling out, and then forming the sign of the Cross

How come you end up in the woods? Hung on the side of the door
One inch higher than the floor, disembodied from the breast I
Raise the whip to the world, castigating the fast moving shadow
Not fast enough though, it sticks in the throat. An autumn hatchet

How to tell the path in your heart from the tradition?
Facing the desolate, which is the main point, the old
Modifier changed at some tiny details is changing
The accumulated devastating elements, right now

Being left out, as the stem cells of the opposite, in
Florence, which party do you belong? In the humdrum
Afternoon toward to the next day, maybe harvest in the next day, or the even
Poorer moorland, I am going back home in an oxcart soaked in the mud

I can’t survive without any support, including the alloy pen tip
I have to pick up the material from the misted monastery. Standing
There, who is looking back? For sure, but do not mistake this
As a gesture of surrender. He stole the structure of beings from the cemetery

Based on what you switched everything in between different systems?
How many layers of the furnace can you hold in you brain? Burning
The illusion produces the potential logic, weak at the tail
Substituted by a sigh, or a hyphen like a ray of hope

From decades up to the time, discard details and lovers
The solar system around me, the sullen people, and iron tools
Reminisce along the spiral snail’s shell, or even more complicated
Path to appreciate, but not to recover the original appearance

Imagine the spirit disembodied from the earth, though still on the road
Between the procedure and the goal. So many space stations are under
Construction. The first unit produced the affiliated reactions
The rank of conceit and the vanity of history finally elucidate the illusion  

It speeds up the process of digging. Right now, no need to know
The real situation, nor provide the marijuana and tableware
You have to choose the method, pointing to the past, the demonstrative
Pronoun, and the second one, where repeating is a humiliated paragraph    

Against the corrosion layer by layer. All the energies are exhausted
On maneuvers. Against last night, the well will be excluded
Down to the brain, retrieving the thrown-out
With a new ID, Utopia and other Utopians

You thought you finished it, in fact it is a mere supposition
Do not use the pronoun, which hinders the exposure of the secret
In the finale. Play the hide-and-seek with a rejoicing rambler who  
Lost the sharp tone at the end, like a decadent nap at noon

Gather to one place to share the moisture: the rain, snow, frost, and dew
are stridden over easily. When can you gain the speed of light? The honest servant
The old-fashioned sentence, lean backwards. What can you do to cancel
The status of the kernel, to admire the new emperor dressed up in brocade?

In one of the serial films, the face fades from live to gray
In a century emphasizing on the balance, the axis in the middle
Does not have such a scene with such a grotesque style
The debris is swimming in the pond on the paper, waving to the top of the land

Yet this small kingdom is suffering setbacks from the starting point
The shadow of Dadaism floats in the mirror, drawing back the giveaway
The challenge from the reminiscence, the up-side-down acrobat, the pomegranate blooming
At the crossroads, are looking for perfect results, while destroying the half-finished with flaws

In the afternoon after work, I start writing the song of medication
Full of details, the silhouette looks like a fragile hair and the inside like
The metal. I think it belongs to the hardware
From which a blue cup is coated with lacquer

Maybe other readers select it by chance, How could I
Know inside their brains the gray waves traveling
Around and forming the picture that I can recognize
The possibility is so low that we will die inside the small well

The poor speaker. I made a sharp turn with the tone
Towards to the past so I can keep the original thoughts
Among the nonsense. Pause in the middle of cooking
Fast food, a small section will be deleted soon

With all the required components in the play, please excuse me that
I omitted all except the explanation. They are moving their mouths
And I am an elf living in their vivid mouths
Yet I am too big. It can be used as the starting material for a joke

Among those series named as terminators, my migration
As if the ant struggling on the hot pot, wins myself
Kind laughter. The way I called ramble, from trunks
Shrunken into the soul, simply surrenders to the tranquility

But I don’t want to give up my habits such as writing, due to
Reasons such as my age. If I am right at the end of my journey
My hands naturally droop, but I don’t follow my sense
I break my rules, because I don’t trust myself, without my favorite stick  

Maybe the human beings will be gone forever, but I haven’t tried
Nor dare. Once I leave the glorious chain, I will never return
Those who know the consequences will get the compassion from above
I am still struggling for the uniform, to overcast different curves

Adopt the posture in the cabinet, write down the hypothetical weather condition
But not check the man-made calendar, as though sleep beneath the earth
Work, as a grand hollow illusion in this mortal world. People
Are dismissed, the heart yet is still beating like the bell-chiming reporting the time

Recite, to an empty room, or a visionary person
The identity fluctuates, after one section, even in the waist of the sentence
Only a couple words, make him realize the meaning of next sentence, but
Not the form. The form is the real crux

Assign a fixed tone to a radial object, though
The area in control shrinks, which the sad crofter does not care
He appreciates that you are with me on the same direction
You know everything of mine, though the influence may be bad  

Who knows it is pouring out to himself, as force does
Echo from walls, vibration in the throat, teardrops in eyes
And mist, like the rehearsal in the play, the bowstring
Rubbing around, what he feels despondent, all the way to the end, has not been tossed

He received more apathy than appealing silence, yet he is not sure
How many centimeters is his recitation restricted within? Maybe
Not tangled in the mouth, they already returned to their small chamber
As if the journey in a calabash, upside down, bottom big but entrance small      

Life in the winter, inside the house, creeps silently. One day
May be the whole life of a grasshopper. Using his calendar, to calculate our
Time, so I have to write down notes, about those look like
Similar thoughts, but actually different, even transition

Mimic the compound eyes of a honeybee, inlaid with details of ivory shells, but for sure
Get rid of the taste of sweat, and the color of yellow. Practice the plan we had before
The pang and joy are thrown out. As a tradition
They are not our favorites anymore, indeed, disgusting as the 100-meters dash  

All the significance of writing, in this cause, become significant
Since we can’t find more suitable method, the video-recorder might work
Yet for those poor writers, it is still not a possible
Option. Soak the part with poetic inspiration, but not now

Well settled gloom, corresponds to the length of a sentence. Hide
Whatever relevant. In the winter, only one minor thing is worth trying
Hide behind the apple box, nap for a while, and crawl over the mirror
On the cover of a pamphlet, a dot curls his brown leg

Do not believe that the concept is hung on top of our heads, like the sunshine
Shining over our lumped heads, which is the rule to select an emperor
Knowing little about anything except Chinese, won’t help
Our admiration to Chinese, belief and others, with no negative effects

With one forth of the destiny, about the presence, I
Have to say, obscurity is more appealing than clarity. Right
Now, he is the only guest with a special permit that he can
Ride on us and we have to thank him for his direction

Don’t blame others. We have a limited power, a small territory like
A finger nail. We need more rounds of the Resurrections. Another kind of superior
Eccentricity, which have brought us misfortune, happen to
Fall upon our souls. We are under his watch

Raised with nonchalant fodders, he doesn’t expect us
Create miracles in the prairie. We are not used to be praised
Behind the double-microphones. We have pig-tails on our heads
It is the mane, blowing the wind into our still shirts, to form new storms  

Floating up from the background, as if a miserable soul
Of a svelte lady, the wisdom of the dusk swirls toward the standing
Patio and away. The watcher behind the scene, saw the moment
Passing away. Save the illusion, to remind myself later

Digression: fondle with such a deeply ingrained heartbreak, with the rhythm and
The softness from elsewhere. Nails inside the mouth, are smashed into pieces
Only one left intact, dragged into the stomach by the tongue, produces the miserable feeling
Rather not to test. The river and the motel in the wildness. The tranquility  

Swirling toward me, if it is a serving tray, or an airport, which will be fine
If it is a similar galaxy, the disaster can not be avoid
Anxiety is boiling tea in my chest, with nose puffing white steams
In the sullen sky, I am hugged by Pope. Ohm, Osip

But he brushes past by, in a similar pattern as the watcher has seen
Where does he stop? Why he rambles endless?
He grants us the light, which of mine gets a longer life?
Though it makes other stuff shorten, which makes my heart broken  

Farewell, to the history, and people
But not the mortal life. In the banquet
As the left part of my body, how do I
Dissemble myself, with my ink-soaked hands?

One, only one person, and a good word
But why you just can not understand? With only one
You will own the whole world. In the basket of the galaxy
There are all kinds of cookies, made by one cook

Both ends of the scale, are important. Be
Not afraid of the weakness. In the pavilion
The stinky smell from the reed, wafts out
With guests. I cleaned out leftovers at midnight  

The bell is chiming, rest all the deities
The bowing kid returns back to the cover page
Of his book. The gaze brushes through the earth
Art has a feminine spirit, and she is prettier than me

In the storehouse of metaphysics, select the suitable
Wisdom; In an elegant hard-cover album
Fix the gracious and show the glorious figure
Isolated from days of yore, for the new generation  

Almost all fair tales are based on this model
“For the new generation”will be studied on the lab bench
Dissected by all kinds of instruments, even left out in the green barrel
In the garden, who will know for sure what would happen next?

You should understand my tone of supposition, one group
And another, show no relationship like that of galaxies. Don’t
Even mention the damn ties of blood, and one person and another, such as
Me, the author, and you, the reader

Whatever you have done, has nothing to do with me; Vise
Versa………The continuity will exhibit
The new form that we don’t even understand today, like a cunning
Fish, blowing bubbles with none of them are the same

Torturing each other, the real happiness is wandering on the street
The wanderer, is paying for his vexations, the burden of gold
In every moment, grasp your soul with blood seeping
Out, riding on a black steed in the fire!

On our barren heads the outside casts with
Pleasant gloss, but there are the real days and nights
The deity, turns away in elegance. Bestow
Upon my whole life in the darkness, to exchange a brief sunshine with you

Why? Brooding in his mind, darn it
What else does the emperor know of your secrets? In this section  
It is my turn to question the mysterious region with the burning roses
I will embrace the burning family name forever, on the way in exile

Being perfectly content, in the mortal life
The only survived emperor is very irritable
A lady, and a hotel
In the front room, I take the elevator down to the hell  



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