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math poem

debole-è traversata la canzone
serene di pomeriggio e luminoso verdi
aumentato dai morti
ombre alate che scopano vicino
sono il vento che esita
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
lasci il unsaid bello di parole
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
burly, humble-ape fare un pisolino
sotto la mia finestra in una via della città
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
non brucio incenso

 



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