suicide poem

the fragrance came
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
up to her chamber window
over the river, on the hill
no prey am i of poor thoughts
it tells of good old times
melancholy, blue it was
two rows of cabbages
brother, i am fire
if the red slayer think he slays
very well, you liberals
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
i know what you're going to say
i know not where