I write poems in blank verse with black lines so that every poem is free. Ping Fu often says this. I have lived a miserable life. A Helpless life, devoid avid, life without spirit, under bridges, over rivers. I saw her vile, hostile, divided. I would like to see the light of candles, tableware …
aah! Life vile, vile life. Did you see life more vile? Did you see? Orc Oh! Vile worm to me, I will dare to see it in extremis in the light of candles! a Wrap “Idiot! Can not you see anything you? Just thin layer protects you from moldy rot. Worms hungry around you. Do not you know that in a magical, in a second just falls to the ground all the pride and the beautiful wrapping paper reveals the fetid mass? The bitter taste of gall, unclear vision, the twisting of the legs, the total lack of control …. everything is inevitable! Any day you will be easy prey: the time that merciless. The tragic end does not depend on your will. The arrogance that sheds no more than useless facet of your various faces vain and worldly.
When setting sun, his face withered and corroded bones ache more than those who took the time and the good sense to be simple and hidden. Be your beautiful hair … “And what benefit will your hair, wires and underground orphans, scattered, opaque on the bones. Transition a hole is so cold and so dark the garden where they lay my aching body! _ “As the gap is cold if the body is dead? From now on only the soul feels …