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suicide poetry

nos moments plaisants volent
un stylo d'acier
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
quand vous venez ce soir
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
du soleil ni des étoiles
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
nous nous étendons
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
ne tournez pas votre tĂŞte
pourrions nous mais savoir
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
si perdu

 



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