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religious poem

perch allora, il mosto noi vede?
scattando in su, cadendo
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
eliminazione, lottante vainly
con di anima dei labbri colore rosso e cuore della pietra
perch cos triste mio bello?
era non per quell'odore singolare
vecchio vino da bere
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
il merriment infinito e insensato delle stelle
e con l'uccello di ronzio
all'alba, ha detto
l'aria come una farfalla
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri

 



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