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friend poetry

allí por la ventana en la vieja casa
he ganado la raza
en el puerto de York nueva
se hace el día
una milla detrás
al lado de un campo afectado
ésta es la canción de la juventud
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
levantado de los muertos
en todas las cosas no habladas de
arriba y abajo de él va
compuesto de loveliness solamente

 



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