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elements of poetry

ci un'ora di riposo pacifico
il mio figlio guasto e sono ciechi andanti
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
gli archi del ponticello rosso
all'alba, ha detto
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
come mi trovo coperto dentro, selezionato dentro
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
sotto la luna della raccolta

 



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