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prose poetry

este é o arsenal
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
a lua levantando-se escondeu as estrelas
qual se mantem
até sua janela da câmara
para então without
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
olhar além
nós colocamos
caras bonitas, tragical
eu resido na montanha da tabela
conseqüentemente eu não posso
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
a noite era preta e drear

 



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