I have to write it down
A though, a loose screw
Ink of
bricks and woods
falling in circles of squares
notes
pages without orders
it a messy bast worth wine dust
what I was thinking?
over and over I read it
drew doodle
strange patterns story
how I see, how I feel
the tower as platform
travels that I note
in white and ochre
and so as the leafs falls
unfold
as if it were painted by a child
a note book
it is sky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem