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concrete poetry

flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
do sol nem das estrelas
fala não bem
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
mundo que muda sob minha mão

 



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