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thanksgiving poetry

vado il mio senso complacently
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
non brucio incenso
su e giù va
molto bene, voi liberali
felicità
babylon -- dove vado sognare
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
forse è materia che avete morto
non ci è moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso
tutti si acquietano lungo il potomac
mai in tutta la mia vita

 



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