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sad poetry

se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
no recolhimento da escuridĂŁo e pedem
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
a noite era preta e drear
como ela
o movimento do seu corpo Ă© como a mĂşsica
temos nĂłs nenhum shame?
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
e pĂŁo do breaketh mais
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas

 



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