Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages
a hoary butterfly on the shell of moment
is resting to his soul, supported by a pestle
it rains foolish, shortly, descends paper kites
among branches slim, barely gives the bud
the perspectives are twisted like a haulm too from much sun
I am the picking, in the hard verb of autumn
I breathe cubical air, such as sugar from grandparents
and I sing of immortality in window… cleaned by fears…
this landscape… is between worlds, as I sit…
or between seasons, who fell in masticator
is a sign that a the big longing
has the clogged chimney of my mind, and trajectory of veins
a mixture of confusing and conflicting states
break the little peace obtained by my frequent death
a carousel inverted in heaven and overturned here
spins the blue apple, where I am worm impetuous and worthy
I want all…
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remedy for soul 