<>to live, or something else</P>
<>xiaoping liu</P>
<>1</P>
<><BR>the sleeptalking about death<BR>just arrived at the end-point of the dream<BR>when i woke up</P>
<><BR>2</P>
<><BR>the portrait of deceased father<BR>hung on the only way i had to take<BR>a two-inch film<BR>overwhelmed my future</P>
<><BR>my face was the same as his </P>
<>3</P>
<>i read books, purchased goods, built house…<BR>which were all materials used to weave lies<BR>i exhausted my life<BR>just to collect them <BR>and then destruct them as a show for myself</P>
<><BR>4</P>
<P><BR>i ultimately made me a mask<BR>to deal with the masquerade<BR>when i took it off<BR>my reputation was ruined</P>
<P>5</P>
<P><BR>When I was growing up<BR>just to make myself deaf<BR>when the noises in the world<BR>finally vanished in my face<BR>i would grasp the only evidence<BR>that i was still alive</P>
<P><BR>6</P>
<P>i gently wiped the dust in the room<BR>but i never found in the wide universe<BR>i was even slighter than a grain of tiny dirt</P>
<P> <BR>the aim of my existence<BR>was to be illuminated by a thread of light</P>
<P>2007-2-2 </P>
<P><BR>the desolation of Iron-Elephant-Bay in the last month of a year</P>
<P>xiaoping liu</P>
<P>how could i arrive at my room?<BR>books and medicine mixed together<BR>a length of song <BR>was flying in the wild wind<BR>﹡ <BR>i grasped the words in the vague<BR>i heard a pot of water boiling<BR>which took away the spirit of my words</P>
<P><BR>the last month of a year<BR>was as incisive as a piece of blade<BR>﹡ <BR>now the sky was brewing a dense fog<BR>light ultimately turned itself into<BR>night and storm</P>
<P>2007-1-28 </P>
<P><BR>铁象湾腊月的荒芜 </P>
<P>刘晓萍</P>
<P>1 </P>
<P>Mother sat on the gallet of the Iron-Elephant-Bay<BR>a heavy snow had just melted on her bone joints<BR> </P>
<P>2</P>
<P><BR>the silent village had quenched the ingle<BR>in the winter night i slept <BR>laying my head on the pillow <BR>which was Father remained</P>
<P>3</P>
<P>a cluster of ants<BR>was on the ice stick of an old camphor tree<BR>which was gnawed by the lightning<BR>wind, was rubbing the bright sickle under the eave</P>
<P>4</P>
<P>a pair of blue eyes <BR>were glittering in the black wood room<BR>it was the last month of a year<BR>the old cattle trod on the knife of ice<BR>the dusk turned its face to us<BR> </P>
<P>5</P>
<P><BR>Mother's rheumatism pain was floating on my paper<BR>i dreamed a medicine pill turned up in my poem</P>