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prose poetry

era una bellezza nei giorni
morbidamente piangendo
sotto il timone del guerriero
alla mezzanotte
tempesta
ascolti
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
vi ricordate di
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
tutti dentro e tutti senza di me
in un vecchio alloggiamento si č illuminato morbidamente
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento

 



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  • About this article - Guardian Unlimited
 

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