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math poem

non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
contro la fiamma verde dell'cratego-albero
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
glooms delle viv-quercie
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
ascolti
ora per una lotta attiva e cheerful
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
la sua faccia č giusta e liscia e fine

 



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