"Controlling Youth" I used the first person to write down the past love and hate in our script. I used the second person to cry bitterly in the play. I was separated from my beloved humanity. I used the third person to describe it, but it was too late to be gentle. There is no punctuation mark in the poem "Youth Has Turned Around", and it is all completed by words. The words "chun, hate, ben" at the end of the line rhyme, and the unique sentence breaking method between the lines creates a rhythm like lyrics, as Wenshan himself said "In this era of poor poetry, I want to write words like poetry and poems like lyrics." These are the characteristics of "plain rhyme poetry".

The city inscription carved with splash-ink landscapes and seals is in the muddy landscape outside the bluestone city during the plum rain season. A brush of tears is waved in the air. You are the one who can never be drawn on the parting scroll left blank in my splash-ink paintings. Youth is like wine. The fragrance at the end of the rainbow is... There are seven colors that can span the colorful past in the distance between the winding tides and the egrets are gracefully painted on the mountains in the distance with ink on porcelain. This fragile rainy season is beating the past with brisk drums. The house is filled with The moisture of the tide is storing the memories that are fermenting day by day. I pour out the whole box of the past that is related to you and is yellow in color. The beautiful fragrance of youth like wine is all over the ground. I cast it on the ship that drifts the farthest. I use the moonlight to convey the past that the tide comes and goes. Wring out the memories one by one, they are like sugar that is extremely slow and difficult to dissolve. Perhaps the waves at low tide have not had time to dry. Or maybe I should never have gone ashore in this life. After years of filtering, it must still be intact on the beach. It must have some special shape, such as Fold the newspaper and prepare to set sail. The ship of my childhood, the ever-expanding imagination, reads a poem to you. After the rain, the eaves are indeed suitable for wind chimes. When you look out the window, you see the sound of the buds just sprouting in the wind. It is very soft and I decided to travel through the eyes of a cat, so all the mysteries receded into the scenery. Only things that are hidden cleverly can grow into dandelions and then move forward without any burden. I am very careful because I am afraid that I will only dare to like you in my dreams. That part of me woke up, so I silently read a poem to you. The movement of opening the poetry collection was very careful, very light, very careful, like a cat following a wind chime. I read a poem to you, The Scenery of Being Ridiculed by Moonlight. I made a wolf-colored sound and howled. The pale environment in the picture frame was stinging. Not only the coniferous forest, but also my heart that was suffering from hypoxia at high altitude. A proud vulture circled out of my place that was raised by you. With my eyes, I am trying to use my brush to carefully describe the thing of being fed by you. The vulture continues to fly at low altitude and circles the hills on the bridge of my nose. And with the sound of regret at the corner of my mouth, I ask how I completed this work about my willingness. I kept quiet all the way back to this crowded exhibition hall. No one noticed me. I was at the border of the forest. The colors on the lower right side of the picture illustrate that my love that was nailed to the wall by you was a scene that was ridiculed. Photos of Fang Wenshan’s life (10 photos) Hopeless thirty-one words. A touch of tuberose describes your appearance in the moonlight. Your plain face is bright even when it’s angry. It’s beautiful. The butterfly has been free in the sky, overlooking the land for several months. The hard work has finally yielded a beautiful but reluctant to leave the memory of the larvae in the air, the past climbing on the branches, and a mouthful of delicious green hanging after the heavy rain. The broken pieces of water are scattered with sticky corpse blood and tangled hair. The swollen body is still growing. I turned off the satellite connection in South Asia and pretended that nothing happened. I am listening to the clay doll. The smell of fate and smoke is like an iron wire. The familiarity with you is slowly being ground into one at dusk. I used the sharp blade to cut open the cross-section of my youth. I began to search for the year I met you. In the outermost growth rings, I saw you closely dependent on each other. It turns out that in this life, I can only be one of your rings. How can the wind in the afternoon be described as a round of bright flowers? How can it be described as a round of bright flowers? How can the so-called melancholy air be written after I put down the pen? Until the end, my dear, until your smile is all over the mountains and plains in front of me. Beginning to have some understanding of the language of poetry: Damn Alarm Clock, Tokyo's Crow, Harajuku's Hair, Nara Yoshitomo's Cross-Eyed Baby

The baby started to put on short skirts and bubble stockings. The dream was being used to speak to my subconscious. I just almost kissed her apple-colored cheeks. Scholar Thousands of years ago, I used Han Li to write Tang poems. In this life, I have started to fill in the lyrics for you again. Receiving the award

The woman who lived in Chang'an in my previous life is my worry about reincarnation again and again. The old man said nothing. The flammable past has formed a spider web in the woodshed and waited for many years of greetings. Just like this, the group of compromises is getting older. The wilderness in the middle has repeatedly missed the coming season of plum rain, so I gave up the spotless flight and no longer missed the fallen leaves around me, the withering in front of my eyes and the oncoming wind and snow. In this world where beauty will eventually turn gray, the language of poetry, Fang Wenshan, how can the afternoon wind in Wenshan be replaced by How could the color described as a round of bright flowers carry a hint of farewell? What should I write about the so-called melancholic air after I started writing? In the end, until your smile spread all over the mountains and plains in front of me, my dear, I began to understand the language of poetry. My fragments and lines in the mortuary are an extremely vulgar sadness. If I continue to indulge in the laurels of obscenity, I have to continue to repeat those cute makeup and bone-picking puzzle rituals. It doesn’t have to be passed down by word of mouth and become a belief. I am surprised that the incense of worship can only burn the ashes of the whole temple. I cannot see the shape of the style. I have to analyze and test the images as fine as dust in person. Only in this way can the poetry begin to have real weight. Having loved you, the reeds can only be white in winter. The vast and beautiful spring has always been a land that does not belong to it. Some of the beauty can only belong to the past. In the green and lush forest-like memories, it is good at hiding the camouflaged bird's nest, just like the ulterior secret. Some of the beauty can only belong to the rain of the past midsummer. The happy, full and ripe parting made the fallen leaves die in the process of decay and decomposition, but they were still smiling. Some beauty could only belong to the past, an apologetic gesture. The rising sky lantern witnessed the waves of hills in the unbridled rising tide. The lantern core was extremely satisfied with its water level. The height of the emerald green is very flattering to the sky. Only then did I decide to replace the high-altitude blue. The already 90-degree angle on the mountainside is still deliberately raising and lowering the altitude to cater to the miscanthus. The whiteness of the miscanthus on the sea level is already the most noble. The waterfowl whose body is soft enough penetrates the dark rock formations at low altitude, and is filtered out through the hard corners of its mouth. The last remaining proud apple milk, which is as light as a feather, opens the sea above the South Pacific coral reef stored in the refrigerator.

Lazy, tropical, suitable for naps, my fresh dream is coming, the cat still prefers apple milk, prefers a certain taste, loves you, your tentacles are soft, I can’t put it down, habitual happiness, the angle is just right. The person on the left side who was sleeping was attached to the body temperature like a nostalgic one. I woke up from the right side of the bed and left with my newly grown tail. Then I started to prefer apple milk like a cat, preferring the rich and fragrant cup that you also prefer. My future childhood sweetheart, a lizard who is always vigilant, goes to the snake market with disguised skin color, but uses a scale to buy ants by the kilogram. People can see through it at a glance. It is a lower-middle class. The sun is so strong, and the hot air is so harsh that it hinders its silent imitation of a reptile. I shed my skin in such an elegant way and casually put on the shade hat. I unconsciously spoke with a more local accent. After all, I can't shed the skin of my hometown. Who said that four legs are unnecessary to hide in a snake's nest? A lizard that I mistakenly thought was a snake. Just like the person I mistakenly thought I was, I carefully opened the rubble and the lizard disappeared. The emotion I felt at that moment was like his childish words many years ago, "Wow, what a pity. I must eventually put on the snake's coat and return to the reptile market."

His childish words "Wow, what a pity" are the evidence that I was once able to walk on my feet. Your simplicity is a world of its own. The clouds are like warm quilts, and the air is flowing with innocence of high purity, intimacy, and the wind of the afternoon. It’s easy to fall asleep like a pillow. Your innocence is a world of its own. Love has become a butterfly. Lovers are looking for food. Inexhaustible thoughtfulness and gentleness have grown over the wilderness. Thoughts are like a forest and are tightly surrounded by oaths. In the season of sowing, we will stay together in the blink of an eye for a lifetime and bear fruit for you. Innocence is a world of its own. Love is transparent in the crowd. You can see through several people in a row. Their moderately curled sadness. The choir seems to be passing through in one file, but it is not the case. Perhaps the gospel itself should be slightly transformed to avoid losing any part of the consciousness. The solid wall fixes the immovable dream and ends with a convergent confession in the uncovered square. No one has to lie modestly. They continue in the dismantling of the cloister to avoid the distortion of the romantic form. The bells close to subzero and the concrete straight lines are very beautiful. Gothic is forced to equal the church, which of course also includes those stained glass windows. What else just looks like the name. Some words are nakedly disgusting and depressing. It needs to be thrown in moderation next to the fountain closest to God in the Promised Land. Only the curly sorrow can make a wish poem, and then it is spurned. How to mail a clever apology? It has been considered repeatedly. The carefully folded tone has avoided most of the lethality before it is opened. The elegant plain letter is handsome. Yi's handsome handwriting maintains a perfect ratio between the recipient and the sender. Breaking up can actually be so overly beautiful and hurt. The roots are thinned over and over again on the swaying rock wall until the bloody past is exposed. It turns out that in the hands of a poet, the heart-wrenching parting can be a very shallow change of heart. On the day I knew you were leaving, I typed in the dictionary and started to look up what is boredom. On page two hundred and thirty-seven, on the side of Jiuhua with the word Jin, I only found two words, fresh personality, about hearing. It is the same kind of world as the subconscious. Just like a marriage contract cannot be filled out unilaterally. Habits are rampant. Crabs do not swim in a straight line. The Fish Can Understand Rhyme Game. Anyone who knows me knows that a secret story begins with a foreshadowing. Usually, you first sort out the emotions that you have assumed and brewed, and then use a pretentious writing style to write two Chinese characters: teardrop or flower season. Next The spacing of words in each paragraph and the white space between them are actually very deliberate and deliberate to please the eyes. The order of reading is to make the ending look sonorous and powerful. Of course, the middle of the story still needs to create a polishing angle, a few sad and sentimental sighs or a few sentences. Saying goodbye to such a painstaking layout design, is it just to let the story see the beauty that Lu comes from? In fact, all my efforts to pile up these rhyming words are just to make the last sentence, the last sentence, the last sentence impeccable, so-called love for you The abstraction of you takes a frozen love poem and feeds it to the strange wind outside the door. The news comes from the mute mouth. The familiar year is still on the way home. The temperature that is not trusted is still unable to digest the prosperity card it has not seen. The handwriting on it began to be tortured and forced to confess. His blessing for Christmas that year was too general. The promise should refer to an abstract time and space. Time should not be described in such a specific way. The harsh winter of that Christmas was still hidden among the crowd. The pain that has accumulated over the years has become insoluble. No matter how you thaw it, it will be difficult to return to the original content of pure water. And your injury

It's so easy to understand. Above the bustling city, you try to slow down the clock on Christmas Eve. You try to make everyone who receives Christmas cards stop opening the envelopes. Because loving you forever is a line of rainbows that will disappear as soon as the rain stops. Gift bottles redeemed The nostalgia of the old-fashioned camel shape is faintly reflected on the glass surface. There is also the playground in the afternoon. Class A of the sixth grade recited the text. The grocery store has been moving towards black and white photos many years ago. The thickness of this candy jar Let those outside who can’t afford our memories be the audience. Among the large amounts of colorful wrapping paper, I can only taste your sweet smile. Because whoever liked whom’s handwriting at the beginning is only suitable for touching this city with a pencil. The photosynthesis in it is blurring any face that wants to have memories, so I used the time of longing to raise a pond of hibiscus. I just want to have a better description of my secret love. At the same time, I stir the smile on the corner of your mouth to make it very thick. I started to think about all your secrets in a sticky way. I was carefully followed. I deliberately exposed the flaws to let your reserve relax. You stretched out your hand to grab a hand full of favors from the glass bottle. Everything should have been yours many years ago. Accurate dreams control youth. I used the first person to copy the past love and hate in our script. I used the second person to cry bitterly in the play, and I was separated from my beloved humanity. I used the third person to describe the youth that turned away before the first kiss before it could be tender. The distance has been evened out into wheat-colored breath, which has separated from its final relationship with snow-white, and is gradually adapting to the warm and slightly sour weather. The color of the plant has not yet fully matured and has no extra aging experience, so it can be planted on the grassland. The surface of the green diary is working hard to form a lush green color, and the vegetation has finally been read through to the summer. The gene transmission that belongs to the details of flowering is nervously developing. A cub is doting on the soft breasts. The story of the haunted and weaned Northland is just about to sprout. The snow-white must have shaken off from the top of the mountain. Such a doting area has begun to converge in a large area. Yes, the daisy is very fragile just by the name. The birch forest has embraced the willful hunger of the entire spring. The cub continues to walk. The outline of the territory is constantly expanding. Album song pictures created by Fang Wenshan for Jay Chou (4 photos). And the corner I stand on is precarious. I am very happy and extremely delicate. I like to peek at too high a latitude. Sometimes I am agitated by lack of oxygen. Without wings, a purely distant bird's eye view of the moonlight covered by the entire vegetation can only be imagined, so the posture should be lowered further. It is said that the humus soil at the bottom is very nutritious for love. The dead trees covered with moss span across the ground covered with duckweed. The pond was used as a bridge. The mosquito walked past the big fern tree, carefully holding a piece of dinner in its mouth. The secret love under the thick shade was suitable for carrying the light. It was gentle and just right. It was moist and cool. On the bridge of rotten wood, I used a magnifying glass to examine the ants. The place I just passed by and my love for you that is as delicate as tentacles