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cowboy poetry

il cielo
sto morendo
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
le preghiere bianche piccole
lasci il unsaid bello di parole
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
qui si trova una signora la più bella
tutti si acquietano lungo il potomac
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
il giorno è fatto
non sia falso
nel vostro volo

 



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