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autumn poetry

n'accrochez aucune guirlande
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
et ainsi elle va
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre
le bonbon avec la fougère et s'est levé
et pain de breaketh pas plus
jamais dans toute ma vie
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée

 



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