Atypical
I feel,
like shell in the snow,
as a bird in a nest,
as a ship in the desert.
Different from everything,
of every being,
from each plant,
the world is a crystal brown
and I ring that rotates,
uphill
and eludes him.
My voice is music,
without pandering notes,
my soul a trap,
to escape from time.
Atypical,
as in drawer
a dream,
remains
when opened
to rest,
because Tired
now
because it has already changed
the world
and should everything
beginning,
Risognanze.
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