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我就是村完小的苦楝树。兀立,身体庞大却瘦削,以至于筋骨里的感叹,我也能听见。很多年了,我没有再从它旁边经过,伫立,或者叙述。从前,我倚靠着它,眺望天空,抓住掠过的白云。从前,我在它的身上狠狠地刻字,小刀锋利,是我的身体的锋利的见证。它茕独时和我是一样的,在夜深的操场,当最后一盏路灯熄灭,伸手不见五指,但我听得见它在叙述,发牢骚,捶胸顿足。我弹奏吉他,也是它在弹奏。我就是村完小的苦楝树。在记忆的长河,我心里的一片土地,有它
I am a small village neem tree. Wu Li, the body is large but thin, so bones of the sigh, I can hear. For years, I stopped by, stood, or narrated about it. Once upon a time, I leaned against it, looking out to the sky and grabbing the passing white clouds. In the past, I severely lettering on it, knife sharp, sharp testimony of my body. It was the same as I was when I was alone. In the late night playground, when the last street light went out, I could not see anything but I could hear it narrating, whining, and crying. I play guitar and it’s playing. I am a small village neem tree. In the memory of the river, a piece of land in my heart, have it