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african american poetry

questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
siete bei e sbiaditi
a volte mi domando se č realmente allineare
dai nostri posti nascosti
sotto la mia finestra in una via della cittŕ
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta cosě tanto oro
ho visto le stelle piů fiere
che cosa io devono voi
glooms delle viv-quercie
ascolti
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes

 



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