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writing poetry

pourrions nous mais savoir
indéfiniment
je réside à la montagne de table
splendide et terrible votre amour
vous vous rappelez
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
le bonbon avec la fougère et s'est levé
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
j'ai dit
en septembre
roses et or
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
chantez-encore à la chanson vous chanté
treize ans toujours

 



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  • JB Seed Successful Grant Applicants Announced (Undercover)
  • Mr. Wedge Issue - Slate
  • Practice over, it's the real exam - Stuff.co.nz
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  • Konstantin Pavlov, Bulgarian Poet, Is Dead at 75 (New York Times)
  • Sweet, sassy 'Sisters' reopens Ruby's (Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune)
  • Tim's tale for two Edwards - Shreveport Times
 

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