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son poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
duas fileiras dos repolhos
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
o mais saddest do ano
a neve sussurra sobre mim
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
sobre o rio, no monte
vontade você glimmer no mar?
desolado e solitário
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
eliminar, esforçando-se vainly
como ela

 



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