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kid poem

perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
ad alcuno i dii grassi
al lato di un campo raso
ho visto che hunched e rabbrividendo sulle pietre
glooms delle viv-quercie
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
uno con voi
con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
le veritŕ terribili questi sono
mai in tutta la mia vita
quando vado di nuovo a terra
sentite la pioggia?
sono il vento che esita
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno

 



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