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black poetry

désolé et seul
basculé dans le berceau du profond
babylon -- où je vais rêver
et pain de breaketh pas plus
fleurs des bébés
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
j'aime les vieilles configurations melodious
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
en ce moment
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
très bien, vous libéraux
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
il était un jeune oysterman grand

 



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