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prose poetry

o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
há uma hora do descanso calmo
sombras voadas que varrem perto
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
a lua levantando-se escondeu as estrelas
para a verdade, para o amor
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
eu sou fevered
flores dos bebês
poderíamos nós mas para saber
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
simplicity
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu

 



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