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anniversary poetry

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
il mio dispiacere, quando è qui con me
il più triste dell'anno
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
ha una radura, loveliness vento-riparato
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
le ombre pongono lungo broadway
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri
dal profondo e l'oscurità
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno
forse

 



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