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gothic poetry

in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
rose ed oro
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
lascilo essere triste
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
nella sfera
la neve bisbiglia circa me
non prego per pace
desolato e solo
conosco che cosa state andando dire
dai nostri posti nascosti

 



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