Sei al cospetto della Regina di Spine.

Lei

                ti osserva dal suo trono

                                                               di rifiuti

Lei

                ti punge con il suo scettro

                                                                 di carta riciclata.

Ma voi spalate, spalate!

                                               crudeli

                                               ferite contorte

                                                                              ai suoi piedi.

                                                                                                             

                                                                                                             

alza!

si

alza,

si

trono

Il

                                                                                                                                                             C

                                                                                                                                                             a

                                                                                                                                                             d

                                                                                                                                                             u

                                                                                                                                                             t

                                                                                                                                                             a

                                                                                                                                                             dolorosa.

 

Lei pensa al ricordo del suo amore

                                                               condizionato

                                                            e condizionale.                                                                      Se! Ma! Perché! Era! Sarà mai?

E la sua stessa corona

la ferisce.

Tagliate la testa al fioraio!                                                                                                   Troppe spine, poche rose

                                                                                                                                                              in questa vita di piante grasse.

 

 

 

Sacco pieno ♪

Sacco vuoto ♫

 

“Maestà

-         della spazzatura

e dei fiori appassiti –

odorate di

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sacco nero.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grazie immensamente yua per i complimenti, e al tuo masochismo che ti riporta costantemente a leggere ciò che scrivo. Anche se spero non faccia troppo male…