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suicide poetry

sono vecchio e cieco
mai in tutta la mia vita
sopra il fiume beckon a me
con il tramonto
semplicitĂ 
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
che probabilitĂ  spiteful ruba i unawares
bello
ho avuto un sogno e mi sono svegliato con esso
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
potremmo ma sapere
fate sentirsi

 



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