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suicide poetry

basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
la sua faccia č giusta e liscia e fine
e come potreste sogno della riunione
impaurito nient'altro, dico
in settembre
ci č un paese in pieno di vino
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
chi č il corridore nei cieli
ciņ č la nave della perla

 



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