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pumpkin poem

a algum os deuses gordos
eu moldei o mundo
conseqüentemente eu não posso
dê-me a fome
diga-me não
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
eu ofereci-os todo o farewell
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
todos tragam os anos
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
até sua janela da câmara
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela

 



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