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contemporary poetry

quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
simplesmente falando
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eighty anos passaram, e mais
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
quem é o corredor nos céus
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
deixe-nos piedade aqueles de que seja melhor fora do que nós são
cão do gingham e o gato do calico
veja, eles retornam
eu estive
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de

 



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