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black poetry

non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
per veritŕ, per amore
glass-blower di tempo
calma come che seconda estate
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
fra le montagne ho vagato
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
composto del loveliness da solo

 



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