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def poetry jam

con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
siete svegli?
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
molto bene, voi liberali
glass-blower di tempo
veda che mi dò voi
il sole è in su
mi chiedono dove sono stato
ho entrato nel deserto perché la mia anima è athirst
in possa
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
il dolce con il fern ed è aumentato

 



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