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prose poetry

era muitas e muito um ano há
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
este é o arsenal
sob a folha dusky do laurel
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
eu ofereci-os todo o farewell
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
como como as estrelas é este o branco, as caras nameless
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
deixe-nos plantar
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim

 



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