Give me a modern long poem.

I have wandered in these hutongs countless times.

The passages of these conference semifinals are covered with bright red seals.

The old country's blue bricks are in ruins.

The emblem of Yuan, Ming and Qing Dynasties was eroded by the years.

As for the distant Great Yan State, there is no trace at all.

Nanluoguxiang, sixteen-legged centipede.

Crawling in the depths of time

So simple and so delicate.

Like an agarwood comb on the dressing table of the harem

With an ambiguous smell.

So practical and so gentle.

So tourists are willing to get lost here.

Fashion women passing by

Smile again

I love you, Kublai Khan's town.

I love your blue-gray roof tiles and symmetrical hutongs.

I like your damaged brick lintel.

I love your dark dusk and warm lights.

I like this long poem you gave me.

It is not a bad wish to die here.

I am a deep-rooted rebel.

I once stopped at a bar called "Hit a Rock".

The body hits the rocks here.

And the soul has already crossed the iceberg.

Drift to a more lonely place

Another bar is called passerby.

Reminds people of a simple poem.

The sound of hooves is a beautiful mistake.

We can't keep the fleeting time.

Never wait for someone else to come back.

Nanluo grilled fish, which burned me to death.

Carp trapped in iron plate

Destined not to be a dragon.

I heard a sigh deep in its throat.

Have a sip of bitter beer.

Cover the fish with vegetable leaves quickly.

Look at me, eyes.

Shajing grocery store stands out in the bustling alley.

Doors and windows are always locked.

Taishan Shi Gandang, next to the town house to ward off evil spirits.

Become a mystery of bean green

A fictional legend

As scary as a third-rate ghost movie

I think this is a trace of time.

This is the only key of yesterday.

Do business with a straight face

Wenyu cheese shop sees through customer psychology

Many times, the word "sold out" is hung.

Once you open the door,

There's always a long line.

Diners have a happy life.

Eating a plate of cheese can also make you happy.

It's like a century of love.

Silver, with a cold metallic luster.

Full of temptation, and seems to be refusing.

"The future world is made of silver."

I think of what Wang Xiaobo said when he died young.

Nanluoguxiang is connected with the past.

This also led to the Silver Age.

In the silver world, you must never close your eyes.

When you open it, the world is gone.

Blue and white porcelain pieces from ancient kilns

Embedded in the silver of the future

I watched from a distance, thrilling.

A piece of skin in history has been cut.

A fingertip of the city was stung.

The shot put hit a bird intentionally or unintentionally.

Ruthless boots trample countless souls.

This small shop called Band-Aids is like a time train.

Bring back all the memories.

Survive, die, stay and travel.

We are all scarred.

Women are used to wearing art.

There are several batik clothing stores in the alley.

I like foreign batiks.

I like random colors and careful layout.

I like bright colors.

It's like listening to many kinds of sweet voices.

There is only one voice, a world of colors.

Too suspicious, too monotonous.

The smallest bar in the world in the alley.

No bigger than the bedroom where suffering drifts north.

Two shopkeepers of "12 square meters"

One is from China.

The wisdom and carelessness of China people.

The other is from Canada

May bring the blue sky of Canada.

Far and vast land of maple leaves

Actually connected to this alley.

Guitar, the beautiful strings are always jingling.

Let me see my rusty fingers.

Think of my dream of playing guitar as a teenager.

Can't bear to intervene again.

Those two guitarists in cowboy hats

They are different from this alley.

Like sitting in the west Gobi under the setting sun.

Sing your heart out.

Not for anyone, not for anyone.

Some occasional charity activities in bars.

For example, I hid a skeleton in my closet.

Try to save, defend or change.

Maybe just for the sake of

Announce the birth of a new poem

Many people write poems, and many people read them.

But who can meet whose poems?

Who will be moved by whose poems?

I like the small shop in the alley.

I found my mother in it.

She has white hair and is kind and silent.

I like the chicken neck and edamame that she made by herself.

I like the beer she handed me.

Her mother indulged me in sitting on a bench in front of the shop.

Drink beer and read the evening paper of the day.

Steal secrets with a camera

Even she occasionally gets distracted and sighs.

Like mom, too

The south exit of the alley is being demolished.

Stick to plastic surgery like a beautiful woman.

The upcoming metal track

I was frightened by the coming soldiers.

I don't know why, something I like.

Most of them were destroyed.

Or destroyed.

Or will eventually be destroyed.

Nanluoguxiang is a dictionary of foreign words.

Sofa, salon, club, cartoon

Montage, beer, model, romance

Chocolate, humor, poker, jazz …

We are arrogant and inferior.

Reject and accept foreign culture

Until they become part of the body.

Civilization, sometimes really like an asshole.

So hutong, is it a foreign word?

Has become an important part of our civilization.

This Ren Hu feels the gap in accounts.

According to the agreement, it smells like home.

Where is the hometown that makes people crazy?

We are sitting in our home.

Still looking for a home.

There are golden beer bubbles floating in the small bar.

Some people call it nostalgia.

I used to be angry.

Those who should be protected were waved with a big hand.

It was erased and never appeared again.

And history will not end, it will only be forgotten.

There should always be destruction and burial.

Roaring history, even if destroyed.

This is not the end, and it will never end.

the old and the young

Corners and eaves, trees in the alley

This is the life in the hutong.

I like tall camphor trees.

They crossed all the heights.

Clear branches sprinkled into the sky.

When you pay attention to them

The sky is always transparent blue.

Like a clean earth mirror.

Jujube is the life of the old people in hutong.

The old man is gone, and his soul is still in the alley.

There are bright fruits in autumn.

Can eat, can remember.

This fruit is branded with the mark of the sun.

Like an old man's red forehead

Elms can be made into coffins for civilians.

So it is more immortal than nanmu.

Tall Populus euphratica is a tough civilian.

The illegitimate son of Kublai Khan the Great.

And Indus, I like her weakness.

She is a sheep among plants.

I like soft plants.

I like tame animals.

I love them and regard human beings as gods.

For human life, it is also accompanied by human death.

Philosophers do injustice for them-

People who eat grass will be eaten by grass.

People who eat sheep will be eaten by sheep.

We all know this is fate.

I know the ending clearly.

Ordinary and great will be silent.

Without past lives, there will be no afterlife.

Oh, how charming life is!

Even if you endure hardships, you want to exist forever.

And how ruthless time is.

We will all be covered with weeds.

Even photos will turn to dust.

What's the point of taking so many photos?

To the death, emperors and beggars are equal.

There are so many once noble people in the alley.

So many people who have been humble.

Now everyone is equal, and time is for people.

True fairness

The prime minister of Duan Jin's

The Golden Powder House became the Central Academy of Drama.

It's full of people who will appear black and pink.

Some became stars on the earth.

Let Nanluoguxiang in spring be precocious.

Accustomed to watching life through movies.

Imagine yourself as the protagonist of ups and downs.

Who can be sure that this is not my other life?

Sengelinqin Ancestral Temple in Chaodou Hutong

Turned into a hotel.

The monk's former residence was empty, leaving a white marble door squatting.

Like two bones of a guard.

These have nothing to do with me.

And Chiang Kai-shek's hangyuan.

Rong Lu Mansion, Wenyuke Garden.

It's not the same as before

Who can judge the right and wrong of these people and things?

A monarch is in the east and a minister is in the west.

There are prime ministers in the south and warlords in the north.

These happy and sad dignitaries

Slowly disappearing into the gray buildings.

Like rain seeping into stones.

Only legends are spinning around the corner.

Wu ban de ju er Hu tong

Won a lot of applause.

In that locked security door

How romantic is the green or burning creeper?

How warm the dim street lamps are.

How exquisite the antique cornices are.

I feel the smell of cherry blossoms floating here.

Like a product stolen from an unknown source.

I still like damp old houses.

Even if there is a washbasin and urinal to play with on rainy days.

Simple white stone old man

The only master in modern history in my eyes

The happiest time of my life.

He is a carpenter by profession.

What's the difference between a carpenter and a painter?

The old house in Yuer Hutong

How commensurate with his simplicity.

He is more like an ordinary person among us.

I thought of my father prematurely.

You should fear your father and the gods.

You should miss your father and your hometown.

Father also had a life of rope ink.

Father is stronger than us, and his steps are more vigorous than ours.

Now, he stopped not far away.

Wait for us to catch up and move forward side by side.

When we become

I totally understand him, brother.

The master of literature is called Mao Dun.

After all, you can't escape the contradiction.

In the era of calling deer horses

Live in seclusion until it turns to dust.

Yuan Ensi Hutong, his figure is floating around.

Yuanen Temple, who do you owe?

You are not a monk unless you become a monk?

You can be free when you leave home?

Green moss, lower plants

I think it is as noble as the phoenix tree.

The yard is dark green, and flowers bloom all year round.

We are used to comparing women to flowers.

Whose window is this?

There is always a woman with low eyes and low faith.

Lonely as the universe

A very happy person

Like red medicine blooming by the bridge

The red medicine by the bridge, who knows who it is for every year?

The beauty in the alley is like a cat.

We call them hutong girls.

This woman's name is Wanrong.

As beautiful and delicate as begonia.

Passing by with a thin oil-paper umbrella

All the way to the Forbidden City.

The palace gate is as deep as the sea.

It's the brother next door's turn to look at it.

Courtyard Courtyard has a deep courtyard.

A messy and family-friendly painting.

It's the bones and muscles of hutong

I can't forget the happy time of painting.

The old house is alive, beating and breathing.

It's easy to fall in love and lose yourself.

The running water from the tap in the yard is like a ballad.

The dark blue cement floor is spotless.

There are small benches on the concrete floor.

Sitting on a small bench in the lazy sunshine.

Dried beans hang on old glass.

Neighbors separated by windows and your words

If you remember, your heart will soften.

You will fall in love with an alley girl.

Love her life at arm's length

I'm always on the gray ridge.

Looking for the mysterious information of the old owner

But the hay between the tiles said nothing.

Become a wall of Wanqing pawnshop

Three door openings are faintly visible.

Bricks covered with lines, like stitched mouths.

There are only two heavy traditional Chinese characters left.

The slogan of the Great Leap Forward era remains aside.

Inadvertently exposed the owner's situation

spirality

Years of marriage

Have a foundation, full.

A broken tablet that no one noticed.

For five thousand years, China was too rich.

Who cares if this pile is a rock?

Stone belongs to stone.

Who cares about the poem on this inscription?

It's hard to read skipping words.

All the elements make up this alley.

The highest point in the inner city of Beijing is also here.

This sign was left over from the last dynasty.

Now it is put in thick glass.

So where is the highest point in life?

Yes, but what happened in the king's world?

Or write a poem that three or five friends can read patiently.

The bell tower and drum tower are in the alley.

If there's anything worth sacrificing,

I expect the bells and drums to ring again.

The emptiness echoes each other.

Shake off the dust of time

Suddenly, connect the past with the present.

Bring me the information lost yesterday.

The north wind rolled darkness and yellow sand.

Mixed with the collision of swords and the whining of horses.

Never stop shouting and killing.

It is the whole essence of civilization and history.

But I can't understand them.

Gunpowder is developing infinitely.

Language is rapidly degenerating.

but

I still love you, the ancient civilization of China.

I love your once imperious empire.

I like your upside-down history.

I like your freedom to count your ancestors.

I like your theme of displacement.

I like your silver and rice paper.

I like the man on horseback and the girl with the pipa in her arms.

I like your tolerant and sensitive personality.

I like the delicacy in your roughness.

What used to be noisy is now silent.

I used to be young, but now my temples are gray.

We hide our past.

Our history has been cancelled.

No one came to look for the lost man.

In fact, we also forgot our old friends.

Perhaps, time has no idea who we are.

Our role is too humble.

We are dirt on the wheel of history.

Busy people, vassals of time.

People who are in a hurry to go shopping.

What are we chasing?

What will we get?

We can't even compare.

This alley, she once dim, brilliant.

Exquisitely overlapping past lives

Who? In what year and month?

Give us the title of poet.

What are these hundreds of sentences?

Only long and short words.

Not as precious as Ailanthus altissima in Nanluoguxiang.

Then why am I so rambling?

This is a monologue when you are crazy.

It grows wildly on the eaves of Nanluoguxiang.

Grifola frondosa and Setaria viridis

It's the sweet boy of Yushu.

And the wandering descendants of poplars

Nature, truth and absurdity.

Butterfly and Zhuangzi are talking again.

This poem chased me all over the street.

And run here, or

I took the initiative to find this poem.

A simple and lengthy poem

Can you fully describe, miss, reflect and lash?

Please don't dream.

There is no affair here.

There are no miracles.

Most legends are false.

If the tree is still

Then the wind is flowing.

If the scenery is still

Then my eyes started to flow.

If this town is still

Then time is flowing.

If the house is stationary

Then the crowd is mobile.

I love you, colorful crowd.

Like a quiet stream.

I love your strange happiness in the alley in the morning.

And the solemnity of the sunset

I love you, neighbor's Xiaohua Mall and the cigarettes left in the kitchen.

I love you, imprisoned and released.

A life of rejection and acceptance.

I love your hungry childhood, wandering teenager and lost youth.

I like your habit of answering in silence.

I tried to forge a key.

A key to heaven.

Is it possible to rely on this nonsense?

With these suspicious sentences

I can't even open my heart.

In the end, what I have, maybe

This is a hopeless piece of cast iron.

Life is more precious to poetry.

And another theme-where is love?

Sell for sale.

Where is the truth?

The broken flag of truth has been mended repeatedly.

Decoration is a means to polish it into a tool.

Look, Nanluoguxiang.

Streets in Ernesto Guevara, streets with red brands.

Since we met, this is inevitable.

I'm glad I met Nanluoguxiang.

This is the only place in this arid city where it has been raining.

Sophora japonica is everywhere all year round.

I stepped on Sophora japonica.

It's like stepping on the wet soul of Nanluoguxiang.

I have such weak ideals.

She is like a butterfly wandering in the smoke and rain in the south of the Yangtze River.

Suddenly I feel that Nanluoguxiang is everything.

Just like Chinese characters when I was a child.

I found her beauty at the first contact.

She is a sleepless dream, a survivor.

Are heavy and frivolous

Clear and confusing

True and false history

Motherland, my dear motherland.

(Shu Ting)

I am your shabby old waterwheel by the river.

Old songs that have been spun for hundreds of years.

I am a miner's lamp with your forehead blackened.

When you grope in the tunnel of history.

I am a withered ear of rice; This is a roadbed that is in disrepair.

This is a barge on the beach.

Draw the rope deep

Pull it into your shoulder

-the motherland!

I am very poor.

I am sad

I am your ancestor.

Painful hope.

It's a flying sleeve.

Flowers that never fall to the ground for thousands of years

-Motherland

I am your brand-new ideal.

Just broke free from the mythical spider web.

I am the germ of your ancient lotus under the snow.

I am your tearful smile.

I am the newly painted white starting line.

This is crimson dawn.

Spraying

-Motherland

I am one billionth of you.

Is the sum of your 9.6 million square meters.

With your scarred breasts,

raise

Lost me, considerate me, boiling me.

And then from my flesh and blood

get

Your richness, your glory, your freedom.

-Motherland

my dear motherland

Song of Prison (Ye Ting)

The doors that people come in and out are locked,

The hole the dog climbed out of was open,

A voice shouted:

Climb out and set you free!

I long for freedom,

But I know very well-

How can a human body crawl out of a dog hole!

I hope that one day,

Underground fire,

Burn me with this living coffin,

I deserve to live forever in fire and blood!