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writing poetry

i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
per allora senza
è spesso non così?
come candela bianca
quando venite stasera
sono stancare di essere amaro e stancare di essere saggio
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
nel vostro volo
del sole né stelle

 



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