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thanksgiving poetry

voy mi manera complacently
porqué entonces, la necesidad nosotros ve?
no me quemo ningún incienso
arriba y abajo de él va
muy bien, usted liberales
felicidad
babylon -- donde voy a soñar
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
todos se callan a lo largo del potomac
nunca en toda mi vida

 



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