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religious poem

questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
andato prima di noi
all'interno della mia mano tengo
burly, humble-ape fare un pisolino
un gleam di oro il gloom in e gray
così perso
la sua faccia è giusta e liscia e fine
siete il mio compagno
composto del loveliness da solo
non ci è moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma

 



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