lyric poetry

fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
i went up and down the streets
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
my mother taught me that every night
the agony of having too much power
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
gaily through the fields we danced
in his guarded tent
out of the window a sea of green trees
now that i have cooled to you
she was a beauty in the days