Red points white squares
tick sticks pinching
now wide ahead – in the neck –
now narrow back – in the rear –
streets squirted of city-black
on the shines of raining saxophones
alternately pressing
keyboards of traffic-lights sprayer:
a shameless jazz rhythm
on the traffic jam of six o’clock p. m.
Originally posted in Italian on February 26, 2008 at 23:54
Mu
Two messy eyebrows
one little childhood scar.
The skyline on the sand
and four drops of green tea.
So one writes blank.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
A love supreme in a car full of rage
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