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baby poem

ancora tredici anni
forse č materia che avete morto
le vecchie canzoni
nei numeri mournful
morbido come la base nella terra
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
e con l'uccello di ronzio
al lato di un campo raso
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
bello
nel porto di nuovo York

 



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