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suicide poem

mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
nossos momentos agradáveis voam
caras bonitas, tragical
pela costa, pelo mar
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
seja paciente, vida, quando o amor está na porta
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
ruídos que strive rasgar
acima de e para baixo vai
um pássaro cantou
o alvorecer era verde maçã
este é o navio da pérola
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado

 



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