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narrative poetry

e pão do breaketh mais
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
três anos há hoje
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
muito bem, você liberais
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
temos nós nenhum shame?
sadly falando
um olhar é mas um raio
ainda treze anos
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente

 



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