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thanksgiving poetry

le tonalitŕ della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
le veritŕ terribili questi sono
i giorni hypocritic
il dolce con il fern ed č aumentato
amilo in fine, o se non
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
poco parco che attraverso
tristemente parlando
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
perchč cosě triste mio bello?
sto morendo

 



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