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cowboy poetry

sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
nobility della morte ancora
non posso ora dirvi
piantiamo
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
braided e tessuto
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
ho detto
glooms delle viv-quercie
il mio figlio č guasto e sono ciechi andanti
il prato stava strisciando
ho visto le nubi fra le colline
nei numeri mournful

 



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