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sad poetry

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
ma non posso ora leggerlo
quando il velare dagli occhi č alzato
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
amo le vecchie disposizioni melodious
senza sosta
che cosa era esso i motori detti
li prevedo
stella-polvere e luce vaporous

 



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