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suicide poetry

ancora tredici anni
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
come esso
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
fra le montagne ho vagato
calma come che seconda estate
sto cantando voi
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro

 



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