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sad poem

raza alto-llevada
una niebla conducĂ­a abajo
lo van
a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
puesto que, si usted hizo una pausa mi lado hoy
a alguno los dioses gordos
cuál deseo comentar
no me quemo ningĂşn incienso
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
una milla detrás
el aire es como una mariposa
he echado el mundo
las sombras ponen a lo largo de broadway

 



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