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thanksgiving poem

tenían él e i pero satisfecho
encima del sur en la rotura del día
en la tierra silenciosa
melancolía, azul era
flores de bebés
el cielo
haga a muchachos y las muchachas todavía van
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
hice un voto una vez, uno solamente
hace usted no oír
ésta es la nave de la perla
a alguno los dioses gordos

 



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