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birthday poem

fiori dei bambini
la mia anima č un campo arato scuro
cara moglie
una parola di volo di qui e lŕ
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
dato che, se faceste una pausa oggi il mio lato
nel porto di nuovo York
nel vostro volo
ad alcuno i dii grassi
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della cittŕ
ho fatto una pausa la stoffa per tendine aperta
quegli occhi neri i una volta cosě elogiato

 



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