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autumn poem

escuro-eyed
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
talvez
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
aflija-se não para o invisível
simplesmente falando
há uma hora do descanso calmo
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
os dias endeared a cada MUSE
você é bonito e desvanecido
mundo que muda sob minha mão
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
gloom
tudo dentro e tudo sem mim

 



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