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short poem

en números mournful
dije, yo he cerrado mi corazón
la seńora, su corazón ha dado vuelta al polvo
el rodillo triste del tambor amortiguado tiene golpe
usted es hermoso y descolorado
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
tormenta
con los ojos mansos, marrones
sobre el río, en la colina
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
amo robar un rato lejos
vi los archangels en mi manzana-a'rbol ayer por la noche

 



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