A roar went up chasing
water white juice
forwarded
to steal secrets.
If I want, it is only
of earth and stones.
My lunch is always air
rock, coal, iron .*
Between the folds of the paper is lost
your sleep under the blanket
hours. I look
chewing to digest
ebony ink.
turn, my family. Burn
The lawn of the sounds.
Suck the gay venom
the Castle .* On the marsh
incredulous crowd
hand
the bone of
my tongue.
Man-Sardinian
stone. and cultivates
echo as
were lilies.
MCT
* A. Rimbaud, Fame in A Season in Hell .
Image Lips, Federica Lampis
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