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gothic poetry

sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mańana
éstos sean
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
cuando un hecho se hace para la libertad
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
todos esos tesoros que mienten
camino abajo de las trayectorias del jardín
el solo puńo apretado levantado y alista
tristes son que saben no amor
era muchas y mucho hace un ańo
con rojo de la sangre de los labios y el corazón de la piedra
dije, yo he cerrado mi corazón
dije

 



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