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family poetry

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
glass-blower do tempo
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
as estrelas caíram do heaven
eu estou cantando-lhe
melhore do que o granito
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
com os olhos meek, marrons
as canções velhas
entre as montanhas eu vagueei

 



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