So shriveled, so faded,
the sick sliver o’ a crescent.
All the adults present
pass, minds & eyes straight on the streets ’head.
¿& why shouldn’t they be?
¿What have they up there to see
that they haven’t seen already?
But I keep staring up @ you,
as if ’twere still the 1st time,
e’en though too many nights have gone through
in the tattered fabric o’ wasted tissue
that only a nobody eye like you can spy.
Quando la gioventù e l’innocenza svaniscono…
sia la notte.
So gray, so thin,