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contemporary poetry

li prevedo
dicami non
quando venite stasera
con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
ho fatto una pausa la stoffa per tendine aperta
il cielo
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
all'interno di questa tomba umile un conqueror si trova
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
era non per quell'odore singolare
tristemente parlando

 



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