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contemporary poetry

pouca porta foi alcançada no último
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
eu sobre-tinha preparado o evento
eu estive
a noite era preta e drear
doubtless eu recordo ainda
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
a música i ouvido com você era mais do que a música
em possa
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado

 



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