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mother poem

quando venite stasera
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
chi chiamerŕ il vento
faccialo rotare giů dal prato
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
per potere vedere ogni lato di ogni domanda
migliori che il granito
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
ciň č la nave della perla
mentre mi sono levato in piedi ascoltare, discreetly dumb
li ho detestati

 



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