Eastern Window – – – [Poem of Dis-Infection, Dec2011]



Rain, rain, and the clouds have gathered,

the eight ply of the heavens are darkness,

the flat land is turned into river.

 

“Wine, wine, here is wine!”

I drink by my eastern window.

I think of talking and man, and no boat, no carriage, approaches.

• • •

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About tmabona

writer, reader [bolano, DW, bellow, deLillo], runner, badmintoneer
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