Lunch Break

The Sleeper is not yet close to the truth. Like a huge hour hand, slowly swinging in the wide valley. The thin cloud floats unsteadily, Behind the empty shell, a cluster of sparks，trembling and flickering How many sleeping buildings are there in town? Aren't they also those thousands of iron anchors that sink to the bottom of the sea. (Will they float up one by one? Like that cloud) The air condenses into dangerous flocs Rain showers, pouring down suddenly, The uninvited guests fled in a hurry, offensively, Into the shadowy forest The roar of the logging machine rises here