MBT shoes, Summer night thinking people, the late at night anxious night wasted breeze driving burnt Shura obliterate lunar occultation stars. What’s wrong? Why is this night decorated with magic ruggedness? I just read too much of Xu's work and originally found some clouds yesterday. Last night, thinking about these clouds, I also left one chamber empty, measuring degrees of solitude in my heart, finding it difficult. Nuo read and broke up the soil, realizing it was shallow and not part of the prime nebula. The wrapped mixed turbid clouds reached to the CD alleys. The wind is thinking.
(Note: This translation maintains the abstract and poetic nature of the original text, which seems to be a free-flowing, creative piece that plays with imagery and emotion.)