what I write is my ectoplasm,
that devastates uncontrollably, spitting
a pile of words that create the substance that nearly kills you
as asthma.
drained, lifeless,
address this climb,
that gradually wearies me, and this
tightening of benefit to my torment,
ointment
silver
in this timeless death.
Francesco Favia
Monday, May 19, 2008 ore 2:20
http://ciscofavia.blogspot.com/
http://www.nonsolocronache.com/
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