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family poetry

fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
conosce un rilascio poco costoso
nelle mattine nube-grige
due file dei cavoli
in pieno delle rotture
sto morendo
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
forse materia che avete morto
all'alba, ha detto
ottanta anni hanno passato e pi
dicami pi di meno o dicami di pi
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa

 



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