HE-IA-NST-CHY-EIN

The old American of fall's skin

taught songs.

But why does the steel not meet the sky...

How do you sing

Without taking time?

How do you liberate, with autumn in your gut, and

How do you jump with just a dual anaphora?

The leaves you remember

Were cosy pillows. Guanciale, but not for

Pasta.

How does one jump

With no special shoes? Or run fast enough

To ask the crowds to rise

And critics to be arisen

Like a colossus, the people, and so forgotten

Compressed, eradicated-

And whatever is left of the song

Or the poem

Can start its slow decadence, falling

Piece by piece!

Old man, will I forget your name and your hair?

Till then, let me listen, while I write and forget.