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sad poem

une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
je l'ai vu une fois avant
mais alas, rêves justes
un orage monte sur la marée
calme en tant que que deuxième été
tressé et tissé
deux rangées des choux
indéfiniment
ombres étendues le long de broadway
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
simplement parlant
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question

 



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