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suicide poetry

musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscurità
la festività reale è stata fatta
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
sole e vento e battimento del mare
lascilo muoversi lentamente tramite la via
addolorisi non per l'invisibile
la terra mantiene certo andare di vibrazione
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
fiori dei bambini
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
due file dei cavoli
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
cammino giù i percorsi del giardino

 



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