Oh, you've found the letter, you've cried with anger,
and you have insulted the memory of my mother calling
rotten bitch mother of dogs, you've already drunk
alone, lonely, the
afternoon tea looking at my old shoes and empty
forever and can not remember my disease my dreams at night, my meals,
without cursing out loud as if there
still complaining of the Tropic of coolies corringhis,
of poisonous fevers that made me much harm
and I hate the dreadful English yet. Malignant
, really, what a night so great, why so lonely land!
I come back to the dorms solitary
lunch at the buffet restaurants, and again shot to the ground
pants and shirts,
no hangers in my room, no portraits of anyone in the walls.
much shadow in my soul that would give you back, threatening
and what I think the names of the months, and the word winter
what is grim drumbeat.
Buried next to coconut later found the knife
ESCODI there for fear that kill me,
and now suddenly I would smell her kitchen steel
used to the weight of your hand and the brightness of your foot:
under soil moisture, among the deaf roots of human language
the poor only know your name, and the dense earth
not include your name
substances made impenetrable and divine. As
grieves me to think of the bright day of your legs
lying as solar water detention and harsh, and
sleeping and flying swallow that lives in your eyes,
and fury dog asylum in the heart, so I
deaths are among us now,
and breathe in the air and ash destroyed the long
, lonely space around me forever.
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