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suicide poetry

ainda treze anos
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
como ela
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
calma como que segundo verão
eu estou cantando-lhe
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate

 



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