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graduation poem

piantiamo
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
così perso
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male
da solo
perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
portimi la canzone morbida
questi sono
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
all'alba, ha detto
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
glass-blower di tempo

 



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