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short poem

não seja falso
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
dê-me a fome
moonlight profundo e macio
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
tempestade
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
ruídos que strive rasgar
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixões mais baixas
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito

 



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