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em possa
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
escute o mar soando
você ouve a chuva?
do assoalho ao teto
há qualquer um lá
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor

 



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  • Faraz dies: poetry loses a voice, people a friend - DAWN Group
  • He Blurbed, She Blurbed - New York Times Blogs
  • Capitalism has proven Karl Marx right again - The Herald
  • Robin Thicke - Something Else - femalefirst.co.uk
  • Mashpee soldier killed in Afghanistan - Boston Herald
 

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