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funny poetry

minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
aflija-se não para o invisível
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
eu sei o que você está indo dizer
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
antes do saint de bronze solemn
nós que estiveram
poderíamos nós mas para saber
escute o mar soando
assim perdido
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite

 



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