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写故乡这些年,奔走他乡,我只愿意写下故乡。写下那些笨拙的旧时光就像树根总把自己越埋越深。更多的时候,远方的声音很轻很轻……把我从另一个天地唤醒,我喜欢沿着心语和泪水,想象声音的行程,抵达思念的纯粹,在文字的岸堤,一泻千里。整整十一年粗粝的时光啊,一颗潦草的心,足已让我不可避免地成为一个诗人。写与不写,背地里我都抒情不止,想或不想,我都捂紧在心脏和梦境最近的路上。这条用文字来修的路,就像镇定的药片,充满质感,与病根有关,与体内的雷鸣,闪电有关,与紧闭的双眼和合十的手掌有关……
Write hometown these years, running away from hometown, I only want to write hometown. Writing down those awkward old times is like a tree root that always buries itself deeper. More often, the sound from afar is very light and light ... Wake me up from another world. I like to follow the heart and tears, imagine the voice of the journey, arrived at the pureness of thoughts, in the text of the bank of the embankment, blew thousands of miles. A full 11 years of rough time, a scribbled heart, has made me inevitably become a poet. Write and do not write, back to the ground I have more than lyrical, thought or do not want, I have tight in the heart and dreams of the recent road. This road to repair text, like a calm tablet, full of texture, and the root cause of the disease, and the thunder and lightning in the body, and the closed eyes and the palm of the hand ...