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black poetry

penso spesso alla cittĂ  bella
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
dal profondo e l'oscuritĂ 
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
circa ha sporto querela al padrone
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
forse
corsa alto-sopportata
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
rose ed oro
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
riempio questa tazza
ho detto, io ho chiuso il mio cuore
andato prima di noi

 



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