domingo, 5 de junho de 2011

Ezra Pound

      IKE a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
      She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
      And she is dying piece-meal
      of a sort of emotional anemia.
      And round about there is a rabble
      Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
      They shall inherit the earth.
      In her is the end of breeding.
      Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
      She would like some one to speak to her,
      And is almost afraid that I
      will commit that indiscretion. 
      (Posted by Rafaela Souza)

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