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teen poetry

ayer por la noche la Luna Llena puso un paño del blanco
vea, de esta falsificación de él
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
hermoso
le cuento con
no me quemo ningún incienso
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
soy el viento que duda
por el puente grosero
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
si él
raza alto-llevada
las naves están mintiendo en la bahía
arrojé mi alma al aire como un vuelo del halcón

 



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