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autumn poem

les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
je suis dans l'amour avec les endroits prévoyants élevés
à certains les gros dieux
je l'ai vu une fois avant
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
comme bougie blanche
prenez mes bracelets
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
en tant qu'elle
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas


 



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