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poetry poem

ha incurvato l'inondazione
le vecchie canzoni
stuff della luna
chi ama la pioggia
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
glass-blower di tempo
dal profondo e l'oscurità
morbido come la base nella terra
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
disprezzo i miei amici più di voi
quando ho rinviato al tramonto

 



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