Hello Max This post is dedicated to you.
geezer is a post written by one and ten at night. I'm thinkin 'the song of Elisa "and yet feel, and I is an idea: what if we took a poem and try to find images that describe it? or that were contrary to what he says? and 'difficult at this time of night to think of a poem ... but in a few minutes to visit me .... I try to be a poet or a poet, but I could be there to invent them. ah now here she is .....
Millions of books
down in the valley
stowed
lying in homes,
open on the tables,
abandoned in the cellar.
marked by pencils
beds in the moonlight,
or on the rocks of a beach.
Pages in the wind, on the terraces
wet with tears.
Books handwritten
icy or in print.
The caskets of the words.
two
Poetry: August 3, 2003.
"Coffee"
smell of coffee.
Sera.
The Jazz Jarret,
cigarette.
Everything is perfect
The piano keys like shelling
pearl necklaces.
the evening in a local
hot city in August.
Dream
the cool autumn
cough.
Meanwhile, the heat passes
between my fingers
along with the smoke.
A species of trilobite
across the table
Hot Coffee
sip.
The black oil
in a green cup.
The table
cigarettes
chat
it comes to travel
live like that.
are indispensable to each other.
I write in pencil, I do not think
nell'ichiostro.
now I have the soul preposterous
not be able to close my eyes
was stained?
or smooth?
Fixed as a class test?
Ristretto as a dress off
on a large woman?
Spoons
sugar
trick.
job in a bar
Always turn the cup and handle
to the customer.
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