The coffin fell apart.
There was the sound of decayed wood crumbling, and a cloud of smoke surged out, like water vapour from a hot steamer.

Yan Lianke / Carlos Rojas

Four Poems by Gu Cheng Tr. by Aaron Crippen

don’t go to sleep, don’t Dear, the road is long yet don’t go too near the forest’s enticements, don’t lose hope

write the address in snowmelt on your hand or lean on my shoulder as we pass the hazy morning



# 1.   


jiaqi zhang, October 29, 2013, 12:34a.m.


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