Afternoons with straw figures
cavorting in delightful emptiness
in a surreal haven
with the unseasonable obtuse . . .
Where does your property begin again? . . .
Where do you begin again? . . .
At the spring? . . .
With the barn and its many matrices? . . .
Inasmuch as differences
clip the wings of understanding for some
you are welcome to settle in . . .
Tea? . . . a book, perhaps? . . .
Feel free to chill
before the requisite summing-up
propels messengers of redaction
back out onto the backroads of many . . .
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Antonio Palmerini |