我举头    

                                                                        本该明亮的月亮

                                                                        却如他刚出生时

                                                                        一样暗淡

                                                                        周围的人们都在用手行走

                                                                        谈笑间

                                                                        落下贫瘠的泪

                                                                        孩子们认真教育父亲

                                                                        怎样做人

                                                                        自杀了的诗人

                                                                        会聚于麦田

                                                                        饱含激情地阅读新诗

                                                                        感到荒谬的我

                                                                        在稠人广座中依旧孤独