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suicide poetry

mi chiedono dove sono stato
era un oysterman giovane alto
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
il prato stava strisciando
lucida l'ultima età, il seguente con speranza è visto
il mio amore allineare dal suo cuscino è aumentato
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
dolce e forte
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
in settembre

 



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