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I’m walking at night
your words under my arm
TAC TAC TAC
the typewriter is counting my steps.
Someone is whispering “The typewriter is holy!”.
I’m walking.
TAC TAC TAC
I see a rain of syllables
falling on the street
from the sky
and writing a story
in a dirty puddle.
SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH!
I hop in the water
and look at myself in it
and my nose
my eyes
my days splash about
and your journeys
your dead roads
your worms your visions
and God
the rings of smoke
the keys of an old typewriter
the yellow lights
the cat on the roof
the syllables
and all the holy things
mix up
and splash about warm.
Words are still pouring down
from the sky.
TAC TAC TAC.
You are somewhere
on a cloud
smoking and typing and dreaming.
I spill my beer on the asphalt
I hop in it
and nothing happens.

I first wrote this in italian then tried a translation.
I don't know if it's any good.All comments and reviews welcome.I apologize for my English.
Silvia