The weary-eyed dancer
the striped tutu
dance between the exhaustion of withered roses
and the infernal singing of orcs all’incedere end :

fly , my death, on the wings
of fear and shoes of grace,
elegant swallow
tired of fleeting shreds ,
hasten the end of my dance
pound my music –

It should be floating in the fire,
clenching her small hands like a nun ,
eyes petal , invoking the awakening
still with the seasons to the sea waves ,
 pins of rain,
where the voice
is the abduction of the sound and the melody untiring world
letters never arrive.

they open waters of my time
in the midst of distorted grimaces and swallow
bowing under the dark omen –

The ballerina tutu from striped
closes sleep in the eyelids,
Finally, the warble dell’orchessa
has a note yet , so fragile
is broken, the legs
devouring candor and bones
in the flames stretched
the smell of bloody peace.

And as ash
shimmy from the highest peaks
from the strings tighter
observing the time -eyed giant
blowing a gentle waltz –



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