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brother poem

a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
lá pela janela na casa velha
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
para então without
o que mim lhe devem
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
melancolia, azul era

 



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