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mother daughter poem

in pieno delle rotture
i poets dicono a
in tutte le cose non parlate di
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
la festività reale è stata fatta
che probabilitĂ  spiteful ruba i unawares
aumentato dai morti
il mio dispiacere, quando è qui con me
cammino giĂą i percorsi del giardino
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
forse è materia che avete morto
braided e tessuto

 



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