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teacher poem

dai nostri posti nascosti
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
esistere dello swan
sono stancare di essere amaro e stancare di essere saggio
il prato stava strisciando
vi ricordate di
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
quelli sul superiore dicono che li conoscono, terra -- sono liars

 



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