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baby poem

behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
material da lua
nenhuma rapina Ă© mim de pensamentos pobres
filhas do tempo
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
duas fileiras dos repolhos
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
antes do saint de bronze solemn
short e doce, e nĂłs viemos Ă  extremidade dela
olhar além
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
ao lado de um campo stricken

 



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