Prose
» Romanesque
» In a wild state
» Catherine Wheel
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» Recreation
» Mandala
» Wandering riders
» Sabba
Poetry
» Beyond curtain
» A love poison
» Plautinus
» Blind world
» Plancton
» Jack O'Lantern
» Giotto's pastels
» Mab
» Preludes to Lutin
versione italiana
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In the great celestial stage
a star is waning
Dipped in the grass
I try in your face
new skies to explore.
In the last day
I will in vain try
webs of joy.
In the darkness
a still small
small light
then large
almost large
still small
very small
dies
darkness
again.
This night
the sky
has narrated me
ancient history of ghosts.
You are
fleeting oblivion
of death.
The poetry
knows every way
and returns
caress illusions
carved on
ancient walls.
In my eyes
abducted from whirling illusions
and in my hands
that touch still roll dolls
there is always a hidden anger.
and does me get sick of life.
In the faint light of a church
divine mask cries
ancient errors of absolute
escaped in an immortalize instant
in the human birth.
At night
re-emerges usual nausea
that knows every my abandonment
and with her
the usual voices
of happy ghosts
elusive to the day.
Even the the latest escape has completed.
and indifferent skies
observe
the loneliness of a cemetery.
I am expected from a dead fly
and from a thin spider.
Around me the desert
Me, intellectual of the twentieth century.
Death. Ah!
After the last crime
to meet
the face absurd of the assassin.
Revolves upset
between the dampnesses incenses
a monk hopeless.
He is stopped to the altars
listens ancient prayers
whisper thousand times
doubtful
to the muse of the time.
Dissipate your doubts
in the fastest cloud
explode in the sun your madness
insistent imagination of the death.
Desperate circles of fire
are going to invade the world.
But here
a flower
in the wind.
I am
a rainbow of lonelinesses
deserted to mysterious presences.
Now leave me at rest
lonely
with my snowy shade.
Far from the certainties
I deflower the life.
It is destruction time.
Every day
burns the mind
an accord with the endless.
Every word throw headlong
again
the absurdity
of a poetry.
With the broken armses
I relive the silences
that arouse a thirst in the stones of the road
the glimpsed spring
in the grey colour blue of the water.
Beethoven played
his piano.
Over the glasses of the school
only roofs
what abduct sun
and out fireplaces
full hands of cracks.
The sun leaves me
crying on the water
the endless and a grany ray.
Sun, still
while an other clown
is diing.
Cerame
I am tired
to mould in the reality
irrational beings.
Colour blue
that explodes here inside.
Nothing to this hour.
Even the manufacturer of dolls
is tired.
Season mine
my green grain fear
don't go afar from here
it is not the frothy winter.
The madness of a white clown
explodes on the road.
The birds come down from clouds
and carry new seeds.
Don't go afar from here
cold is not under the snow.
The blue swan sings
and it does not die
in the dark sea
great chains tie
the wings of corals.
And I dream always
blushing.
On the lawn the flowers
escape white bullets
but you don't escape.
I will still sing
a long song
for who does not know to listen:
"the sun is born to the dawn
and dies in the evening".
I pray you, love of the two
don't go in the street
take off shoes and fly
on my beds of cherry.
Devastate the shades
with your eyes.
It is not a circle of smoke
your mind
is tree of the Eden
lip and movement of the time.
Ah, don't let fall the light!
The frightened day
is stopped on the gardens of the Eden.
Don't sleep on the leaves
the body is a ghost of love
what is loosened in the gardens of the Eden.
Fly!
Little clown
goes out racing from my heart
and is hovers with his hat
of can flowers in the sky.
Takes in his shoes
the madness of thousand americas.
His hands ring
tar explosions and hills.
He reaches the stars.
Love, don't be afraid.
The ocean is lost in a bottle
if he opens the eyes of wax
and burns
looking the light.
A woman is combing
her long silver hair
and the birds sing in her comb.
in the mirror the snake is diing
and is born from a complaint
the color of the earth.
Ban and muffle
in the eyes of the dolls.
And she speak sandy.
Her statues become hearts
the colors, season notes.
Sun ceremonies
on her knees
smile to the storm of god.
and as grass sweetness under the wind
folds the hands to the dance.
The night cries
hiding in the cathedrals
the sun embraces love
loose river in the lawn.
A morning, the world.
The doll with the heart of cloth
incinerates my melancholy.
I have told only to her
the nighttime meeting
and now my ban
go out from his lacquered eyes
they invade the mirrors
they beat on the walls
echo of death.
I have buried a face
among the most green leaves
I have brought it in my jail
demolished, deflowered
illuminated, missing.
In this universe gold deprived of hope dances woman oasis elevations.
Cubical I remember
my small hands
painted on burlap
searching for sweet
days,
fabulous laughs
while on the Earth
sharp seeds grew up
screams pianos
white sands and willows.
"... and the Queen fell
in the river... "
I cried.
Sweaty of bitterness
I watched the doll
mother
I tore tears from the water
and I glue to their
Marlène cheeks.
Oh clown, clown deprived of hope
broken in thousand colors!
The silver moons
ended
of a prisoner Tchaikovsky
with sob strips the last curtains.
It rains honey and tears
from my open windows
and all absorbs the fog.
A day perched on clouds
carried me above on in hill
in the white house of looks
mystery between great cypresses,
shining olive flutes queens.
Threw in the park, web
I remained prisoner until evening.
One run beyond the horizon
in order to seize laughs, grape
the sweetest
the joy of having a hearth
and a mirror.
I invented screw of artists
on the cracked walls
strange bluets in the aged pond.
Broken in scents
the mind it rambled in the space.
Then, dressed of wings
I flew in your garden
and a fisherman from Hush
launch long nets.
Tchaicovsky escaped on the road.
I saw him rabid biting my planet
and weaving at three o'clock dresses color India.
I raised between the angels of the day
and danced on the harp of Alcinoo
storm, storm, deserts!
Then in the deep house
a made-up dancer grew,
clown sick of smog.
And he said great mountains
to me but he fell from the nest of the eagles
and he broke off himself. Now I have lost him.
Autumn.
I will soon leave seti of butterfly
in the middle of the ocean.
You will send the gull
it will fly until my hands
and will have fear of settling.
I will think: " What designs the saleswoman of
caresses, incinerate in my enclosure?"
Then I will hide the eyes in the water
and will invent sirens.
From a drowsy note in the darkness
a bard of stars jumped outside.
Sour silences, a violin
sunk in the eyes
a trick révival on the heart.
I saw in the dreamed mirror
a dress threw far away
tired, Marta Graham
does not dance anymore on the abyss
the gull flies on the desert and dies.
The clown face-of-milk
cannot wash up the caresses.
I have screamed an insult to the moon
crying invented sunny guitars.
Thanks for the gold and silver
exploded in my island sky.
Tombée.
Great thoughts burn in the fireplace.
A cat steals them to me
yawning the eight o'clock.
It's strange ignoring each other
light, still recite
the usual eyes of paper
while the winter bites lands.
I will kill a rainy smile
in one of these skies.
I will run on the tortured leaves
ghost outcry
reddish, starved winds.
The last clown will play on the trees.
An invented evening
was colored of white
and escaped on the city,
treading on rain tears.
My red wind
churned the cape
upset its stone face.
But by now a statue
was smiling in the garden
and its heart flew on the galaxies.
Useless white.
So long days
last harp musics
frozen memories
evenings solitude.
I dress myself
snows love flood
to the mirror.
I look for you, impossible desert
in those ditched hours
without name, without skies.
When the love breaks
in ancestral looks
and advance furious on soft fingers.
When the voice of the bewitched
prophet is born on the cliff
and the world laughs of the deaths.
When the violin aged
scare, running
the mysteries of the God mosaic.
When the light
extinguishes two times
and the heart strikes bells.
The light still extinguishes
and I remember your name.
I touch the lamp because
still it makes day.
I look for you in the darkness, I invoke you
I tighten the fingers.
Sky sparkes drown the sun
the moon upset fades in the ditch
the deaths come back with unexpected aces.
I feel the sound of echoes, echoes.
Of loves, interrupted loves.
Of hands broken of blood
suicide blue looks
slaughtered thoughts overhead.
To the time, time that bites
a dagger throw in the heart.
It's time of deafening fears.
A drunk cloud God
triggers metaphysicians days
on white plastics.
Substance.
Call me from the moon,
clouds, thirsty hymns
thirst of silver seas
loves, statues, limits.
Ordinary colors are woven
biting the deaths of the sun.
Poor stagey musics are consumed.
Eyes of infinite are broken
sexual loves are lived
believing to fly.
We joke in the night with ghosts
they dance strange prayers.
Watch! Clowns and springs.
Enough, here on the earth.
I love the earth
but I am thirsty of silver seas.
Taste of earth bites the body
earth, season that returns
dances, water origin.
I meet you again with the signs of clown
in the long falls of the incognizable
my love.
The road is all wet
red and green colorful umbrellas
dance between people stories
going and coming.
In equilibrium with music
all the things sweetly fluctuate
and everything goes on, goes also
melancholy of the memory
with a jump in the time
unexpected, light it goes.
It goes, and it returns in its first garden
in the game of the hands
in the mouth barely half closed.
The summer, the usual, incredible,
crazy, whitest, smiles and watches.
Ah! You will still live, provided
you do not play to hide yourself in the forest
of the elfins.
I am scared of a very big
black spider. Every night it walks
close to my room
spider of loneliness, of badness
of desire, of hunger
of azures declined in hells.
Sharp spider of the decreasing moon
of lack, of distance
of a childish voice
drawn and then cancelled.
Exiting from the movie
an unexpected music flew on the square
running and running of guitars and harmonica.
The life, ricciolina child
with the skirt raised
and under one hundred summers, a broken disc
that turned therefore.
I am happy to meet you sometimes
murderous joy of a moment
fantasy existing, because the truth there is not.
It's hidden under the skirt
of the life, tiny child.
I am close to her
but I do not know how to grab her.
Also I am suspended
from a bridge after the black death
like the yellow-wax season
that running paints the field and the hill.
In a heart that strikes to a rhythm!
Suspended between hate and love
between a dead and alive man
between two worlds and two eyes lengthened
between the dawn and the night.
Loneliness is violet
violet and red
she is hidden in autumn, but she's there.
Death dances around her, courts her
brazenly, it's there, it has nearly conquered her
and it escapes again from her.
Salty sun, darknesses
in a word life can end.
An infantile figure walks in the evening
in the day she fears.
To every wincing instrument
pitiless murders she dreams in ambush.
The life and the death embrace each other in the night.
When the ancient leaves
prophetic stones come back?
I was a black person like the earth
seed never scattered in the sky
I was small marine monster
essence of green and blue
embedded love in the void.
A river and the hurricane and the woman
carry me on these sides.
The sun, the beginning, the return.
The death was a stewardess
with a pineapple cake
before they opened the door
of that yellow room
where was an old drained woman
with the opened wide mouth.
Run away Celina!
When you will go out from the shell of the sighs
and will try to make them understand you
they will saw your veins slowly.
The ghost of the encounter
arrived fluctuating in the air
white, with incredible eyes.
He kept on very softly his way
I have met in his spirit a clown.
The past. Probably it exists only now
and we don't know until when.
My ghost is innocent
he has no guilt of my sins
he would escape whichever temptation.
I force him with hell hands
to escape innocence. I destroyed it when I was a child
and sometimes I take flowers on his grave.
Which part of me are
you, that drop to me love
fairy glances?
You came from the empty drawers
from the most crease memories
before I were born.
We were already astonished in a silver
lake.
In a world of false heroes in
forfeiture and of hibernates in
refrigerators with many stairs
I ramble without peace.
All around the usual bore.
Free, smiling eyes
mouth of little angel. It's an acute note
a kiss given with the tip of the lips.
All around the usual bore.
You changed like the grain in the fields
from the spring to the summer.
You fade in my screen
like the moon in the dawn.
Your excessive beauty will be
wasted dispersed in the long cold season.
The pain of losing you
will overwhelm my days
more than thousand loves.
When everything will be ended
is the beauty of the love
like at the first fanciful looks.
The void reflects your eyes
tonight you turn back child
the death in tip of feet
not to wake up anybody.
The passion is the bridge over the river
dispersion in the first precious moments.
Then we go forward to nothing
void without time and matter.
We sink, we are absorbed
from the intense absence of a different body.
When life falls in the abyss
one echo remains, one word.
Purple dressed, a minstrel
will knock at everyone's doors
he will insist, playing the door-bells
reciting here and there verses.
And people will throw fragments and glasies on the road
like the last day of the year.
Dressed of white
fluctuating at the sound of the recorder
summer went around the streets of the center.
It went around with a black hat in head
with eyes like cat
with an ace like vitiated child.
It watched my legs
and smiled.
It went back from a long trip
from planets of the love and the war.
Its body was thin,
thin his smile, eyes like cat.
I saw again the summer a month after
walking more slowly, hobbling.
The first wrinkles arose in its eyes
The colors of the autumn were born in
in its smile the colors of fall.
It kissed my legs
and smelled my skin
its eyes were clear
and smelled of tobacco.
New moon this evening
watches the houses of the men
oblique eyes, line of mountains
wide smile like wings of hawks
icy flare, crown of hair.
Moon of January.
The fear to fall
along planetary paths
colors the wedding sphere.
But mysterious magnets
tie it to the joust of the cosmos
and the seasons will still search it
with the eyes of Zeus
luminous, fixed point like death.
Two winged friends reached me
they joyfully plucked over the way
they kissed each others in the spout
shamelessly.
Which will be my destiny?
To become a spectator of love, voyère?
"Better if you drown to river, than voyagère"
ironized Kurt from the height of the hill.
A cypress was for me
the statue in Campo de' Fiori.
Me in balance, happy, on the thin
rope of the reason. Statue.
The joust rotates, snow slowly falls down
and the violinist dances over the carillon.
I am still there
riding with emphasis
the black horse.
And the carillon sticks
at the third note in E.
I am the woman who loves you
never having known you.
I had eight small months
and you died.
I am your last woman
sure, Erich.
Every step on the road is yours.
You put down a little desire
on my womb, and went away.
Every step on the stairs
is yours, Gabriel.
Remember the evening when you seemed
the firebird
with a strand of green hair
and an unalloyed face.
You were so happy with him!
You are more beautiful now, in the love pain.
You go around for the streets of the native village
and the gods are jealous
of your splendid confusion.
I know all your willings
I know how to heal you. Lady life
organizes us new meetings
to let us dream, Hedda.
You removed my love promises
the beauty and the aroma of the first furtive look.
The devil would weep
on my desperate escape from you.
I hate you, waiting for your death
before dying me too.
I learned not to cry
when the rain already comes down.
Give me back all my dreams.
Knotted to the vision
of a dark look
I have obvious signs on the arms
and one scar on my left knee.
They will find again me therefore, Ariel.
Free me. Let me come back to dance
over the void.
I would reenter in the natural absence
dead, with you and without you.
It was the warm june like the August
when Manet danced on the wall
and we in hush left
a full bed of blood and sperm.
We had killed the dawn
dressed of candid tulle, Ariel.
Round, solitary night
that reaches in slippers
and put to sleep my silver fawn
hunting the teddy bears under the sheet.
You are the night of the love wait
the longest and beautiful night
irresolute, ecstatic.
Still I don't know who I will choose
for the great dance in the blue room.
Moon with decreasing scythe
Can you come back evening tomorrow?
Ecstatic.
I am in front of a fireplace
extinguished, in the balance on the fear.
Who will save me from the unknown one
that has pulled down the drawbridge
flooded the spirit
and imprisoned eyes and ears?
Dirty fairies, blasphemous elfs
give me a very small amulet
like the time that separates us from his coming
because I could bind it
to the highest tree of the forest
and dance in front of him
without let him touch me.
A piece of sky is like a food, a liqueur
a cloud is a light cigarette.
I am in the middle of the soft of the time
and I wander on what scares all.
Celestial galleries open
over the two ferns of my garden.
I was writing an unknown name
in the place of the evergreen plants.
It's useless to seek a sense
if everything is that sense.
I am the singer of the nothing
the minstrel of the seventeenth night.
Lucrezio, Antonin and the wind that churns the seas.
Where did you put my sayings
and the papyrus of the life?
The comet announces
in its fairy halo
the death of a child.
The stars don't love me anymore
the nightingale continues to sing in the dark morning.
Goodbye, little child who goes away
on the tail of a comet.
You had a celestial gull
and a green pacifier that opened the door.
When you were three already you suffered, but nobody understood you
Hedda, Caterina, Patrizia.
Nights of softnesses, caresses, pincers
of dirty clothes of love
to wash for the next century.
The crow announces another day.
I take a walk up and down
on the wood ladder.
A the second step it is the siren of the ship
that shoves off.
Night of softnesses, caresses and pincers.
Ugly, sharp night
without you, love.
Full moon, friend
like my joy.
Where I am now nobody will follow me.
Only the half-sliced over the roof
moon will find me.
Over the magical tier
that nobody knows.
What cold hands I will have!
Be silent, entering in the green forest of the games.
Walk on the tip of the feet
together with Willie Stratford.
Oh, Franz!
Here is the ancient talisman of the Eros
that you opened an April day.
I escaped from the passing time.
You are always here and only you
into the deep of every perverse game
to wash in centrifuge my innocence
and to make me laugh on death.
Only you have not fear
of my shadow of dead child.
And keep on playing with her like she was a living thing.
In the new house
take the hypnotic breath
that recovers you the war wounds.
And my small hand
that will warm you in winter
and will blow you within the coolness
in the beautiful season.
Immutable
always equal the beauty
is to itself. Eternally outside from every extraneity
boring, but perfect.
He lives at the border of the forest
wakes up in the dawn to watch the fairies
and to run here and there
behind the butterflies: hr is the elf Dindo.
Only the squirrels know
and the worms of the log of the tree.
He adores the tears of Madonna
and fears the black wings of the greedy birds.
I do not exist
Dont't dare to pronounce my name.
I am Pixie of deads.
I lift the clumps when it rains
and the worm of the meat go out .
I drink the wine vomited by the alcoholic poodles
ar three of the night
and I become a piece of ice
when the wind of the north grazes me.
Thank to god and to some other creator
I am not more human since long time.
For this sometimes I am happy.
The buried word inside of me?
It will return. And I die, and I take another shape
and I leave all them at the station
to greet with the handkerchiefs.
Hedda! Don't be resistant
to the curious change.
Don't be scared to pronounce
your name forbidden
in all the districts of the country.
You are here to recall the magic
and the ancient pergamene
of the fugitive pure artists.
Bows of rose clouds in the night
lazy messages of the thought
over, accelerate your walk.
Run, go to him
and make him understand that he is loved
The stupid country mouse.
Where will we go in this
boundless freedom? Into the nothing.
I walk within a soft ground.
I open the left hand
and then that right one.
Where do we enter this night?
Into a ship of violators..
Me and you together
are all the pleasure of the world.
It's 'sweet to take refuge
between the arms of the infinite
lover of caresses never experienced
in a clear sky
friend of your weaknesses
poetry.
On your name
illusion
I will play
eternally.
Honey and silver
silver called in vain
you, my season.
I do not want moons
not tin stars,
I want pure silver
from your eternal veins,
space Muse.
I want also storme
and C D F
and then E F B C
and wine of love
and red leaves
and seeds under the garment
And blue snows.
Cry. Dead no.
And castles of eyes
and water and vinegar in the marsh.
Dead no.
And when the steel will be broken
and the bats will die in the sun,
I will dress in blue
and I will seek the oasis of the Gods.
Rain yes, there will be. And you.
And a voice of white rocks
will laugh its notes.
And I will be a billion of words.
Sky, sky, sky!
From the starving clumps
your mirrors deceive gotten angry.
Opaque crystal your time.
Death, no.
But the clouds walk
on the road
and I strip myself of silver.
Drunk I drink what remains.
Phantoms flutter in my castles.
They intoxicate also them.
Oh, what a remarkable night!
Also a dream
opens large oceans.
Love love love
I yell from the tower
And then O roll down in the ivory.
I am seeking a protagonist
don't believe on fables.
Disappointment calcified,
crazy clown, atomic eyes!
Then open one thousand gulfs,
ivory
and I hear motions of eagles
to give an expression to sky.
To die of fear
to dissolve
when to end.
They reclose into notes
and one thousand angels without wings
mot blue
propagate frenzy, the faces of the land.
Distant,
in my twilight palaces
one thousand romeos dressed in the night
dance without music
offering hands
and lip of porcelain.
The tastes melt themselves
of fairies and witches.
The sky is sea
and the sea movement
while my mask falls
and the eyes fix the void.
Dress me of love
in the middle to the large room,
make me queen of my dreams!
I would die and revive
if only you, you, you,
burning with ivory
afire my continent.
Still here,
station of cloying dreams
with large thick eyes
on my mouth.
You play with the echo
To chase our ears.
Has not dried the grain in the valley?
Where is drowned the red doll?
seat in the shadow
by your looks of ash?
The hawk found a hair
in the valley of the shadows
and swift it placed it
on my desert cheeks.
Behind the fog
your phantom cries
and the body is stretched in the grass
to wait for my new garment.
I am scared, so much fear of evening
In the valley of the shadows.
You light a fire, Julacs,
because in my house
the flowers fear the winter.
My love does not resemble you,
it is distant,
it is flying to Venus,
every night betrays me
With the stars. She is an enormous tart,
she has a heart of reserve,
tin and dust
dissolves in her bed
and every sky she explores
is colored of incense.
How many winters left me alone
in the ship to wait for!
But the butterflies flowered on the rudder
and my songs made it come back.
Ulysses poisoned.
I have my hands full of its assaults.
I made myself stone
but the river kidnapped me,
the swallow hid me its nest,
but with the moon,
it chased me again.
One day my love said:
"You are…" in the valley of the shadows.
He was the teacher
and me the faithful student.
Sit on the cloud,
leave rain free
from the white reality of your eyes.
My flowers are opening themselves, Julacs,
you should not believe to my virginity.
In June my love
carried me to the valley of the shadows,
in its kingdom of castles in ruin,
it opened a path in the river
and took me with its thoughts.
The birches played the East
and the swallow laughed on the water.
I said: "God, I will not be able to die!"
And the laurel cried between my hair.
Now, to every Pierrot
that runs to the sunset
I return to the valley of the shadows
and my love says:
"You will not die".
Beat your hands on the water
it bewilders siren, ten o'clock, close your eyes,
begin the dance.
Blue stage
long staircases without moon,
my breath draws the wait.
You arrive finally, sweet insanity.
Settle your thoughts
I did not remember you so spacial.
You should say "When…"
I only "I want You"
And your garment will be bent in the love.
On my tree your story, Mozart.
It was cold.
The sun chased the stars,
how did it run!
And you recited your words
from the top of the light.
Now I remember when he died
The first clown.
Enormous violins sank
in my head.
I walked a lot of days
with the life, without you.
The smile of the masks
and the secret of everybody
buried here.
But yesterday I looked at
from my castle
on the bleaches appeared.
Misses an actor
On my stage.
Blue widows
they will scream to my gates
when I will free myself of you.
A day, instant,
I will awake myself on your face
I will look at it atomic.
It disappears, becomes musical,
walks, goes away.
Spaces of birches
they hide the robots
advancing with hands of metal.
Then white incense
and an orchestra jumps on the void,
captures it, makes of it eyes of deer,
young love of candle
vocal steps of hallelujah.
I will grasp your goodbye
I will smile clownish
with lips frozen
green mantis of exhibitions.
But you, my terrible love,
will you be able to end so?
Don't you rebel, sweet hawk,
to the oblivion, to the fog?
Your hands contort the violin,
they break it in thousand crystals.
You cry, God, cry!
It is a black performance,
I do not want to hear.
I will cry too
opening the hand
full of insults.
Blue widowswhen I will free myself of you.
Goodbye.
To that serves this darkness landed on the moon
stretched on the water
if the suicide laugh
spitting you hiccup on the roads
Not meeting place its daggers purple?
Who, who it will seek venoms
for my heart
Instead of to scream me in face the life?
The grass above the hair
it hides still Hedda different
To run, singing a love.
Love, love invented
All invented.
A thirsty tart
it agitated the feathers, and the gentleman
the mouth blood dried them
with a piece of time expired
All dreamt.
Across its eyes
I penetrated the colors
and the white one was white
And the blue was blue.
It sufficed to want to dance
And my skies danced gone crazy.
I loved all, also the men
From my palace of magic.
I painted myself the brow
Stupid spring.
Now it has climbed on the winter
And I die of cold.
The sleepy hawk
It beats the ali on the puddles.
I hate colorless on the walls.
Too love. The blood silence its steps
It flees, wind in the night.
I end of it do not hear.
They husk the mine dead.
Allunazioni.
If it wanted singer
a harsh solitude
it would sing for me
oceans,
it would kidnap the echo of a star look
From long uninhabited tunnel.
Only lunar harmony
It would go out from bluer my sky.
They say: "You should break your ali
So useless! The men do not want poetry:"
But the reality is this flower
So red, dead and alive from centuries.
They are digging in my heart
A road. They attack me ancient uninhabited,
Planets, and the white figure of the painting.
Who knows if it remembers that run between the leaves,
I bewilder downpour of love?
And you, appeal, ploughed land,
it writes poetry aged, you see me still
With your friend cocaine?
So sweet discover that I will love you
always, garçon ever loved,
Always seeker, so sweet, nonexistent garçon.
I am empty tonight.
Really it need to dance.
In the shadows of the thoughtlessness
expanses on the meadows explode
It struggles of seasons. White dancer
it loosens the eyes of the world
Fleeing. Extraordinary!
I am beating one of my hearts
Against the stars.
The sky is becoming
Burnt land from the starving eyes.
It flees the voice frightened.
It remains alone a night.
And a planet.
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