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son poem

sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
in corridoi di sonno avete vagato vicino
forse č materia che avete morto
sole e vento e battimento del mare
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscuritŕ
due file dei cavoli
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
ciň č l'arsenale
desolato e solo
in sua tenda custodita
qui cade nessuna luce
non giri la vostra testa
quando ero si č rotto a Londra

 



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