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type of poem

pharaoh, roi de la terre de l'Egypte
pourquoi
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
les petites prières blanches
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée

 



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