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prose poetry

eu não pray para a paz
paredes e enorme elevados
o ar é como uma borboleta
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
dê-me a fome
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
pharaoh, rei da terra de Egipto
é frequentemente não assim?
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
eu estou cantando-lhe
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
sombras voadas que varrem perto
ainda treze anos

 



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