In the world

Are those streets or your bones?

Some stars are poisoning the vision,

We can inspire the wild fog

expire poetry,

dive into a tree,

reborn in the buildings,

save our souls between two forks of conversation.

Are those the cars, or is it one of your songs

the lust stretched to the lungs,

and my voice in a hurry,

trying to sound smart at anything.

the grammar is so tragic in my hands,

I will reformulate,

Is it the context or is it the character?

drunkenness in devotion

of anything: it can be you

Or it can be me if you want, if you ever want

It's a nasty winter between two unlikely thoughts

it's my echo in fragrant memories

your voice extended along

a few Beijing kilometers

and the night is suspended forever

in two or three looks.


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