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prose poetry

non prego per pace
alti pareti ed enorme
l'aria è come una farfalla
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscurità
diami la fame
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
pharaoh, re della terra dell'egitto
è spesso non così?
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
sto cantando voi
per venire così presto a questo ha immaginato l'oscurità
ombre alate che scopano vicino
ancora tredici anni

 



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