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black poetry

non ci è fuga dal fiume
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
morbidamente piangendo
dite che lo amate
andato prima di noi
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
dal ponticello rude
i poets dicono a
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
sono fevered
fiori dei bambini
vado il mio senso complacently
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui

 



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