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prose poetry

última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
temos nós nenhum shame?
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
o doce com fern e levantou-se
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
para a verdade, para o amor
são você acordado?
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras

 



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