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african american poetry

material da lua
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
conseqüentemente eu não posso
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
cai aqui nenhuma luz
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
o justo e stately empregada doméstica, cujos olhos
você recorda
tempestade
temos nós nenhum shame?
sobre os rooftops compita as sombras das nuvens
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso

 



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