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sex poem

una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
deve andare indietro, ha detto
il piů triste dell'anno
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
e cosě va
gli archi del ponticello rosso
le tonalitŕ della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
ho visto la prima pera
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
lungamente fa la luce solare di estate lucidare
uno per uno, come va da un albero
andato prima di noi
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere

 



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