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birthday poetry

minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente
estourou o vinho feroz
algum queixou-se ao mestre
eu sou o vento que wavers
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
uma tempestade está montando na maré
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda

 



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