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type of poem

como ela
apenas agora
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
ido antes de nós
eu sou uma mulher
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
três anos há hoje
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
esplêndido e terrível seu amor
mulher boa
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado

 



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