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dark poetry

flores dos bebês
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
veio fazer exame de me pela mão
e nse
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
estrela-poeira e luz vaporosa
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
e assim vai
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
o que nós fará agora
dê-me

 



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  • C ommu nity ca len da r C ommu nity ca len da r - Arizona Daily Star
  • John Dean to speak at Constitution Day (Ventura County Star)
 

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