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baby poem

quando ero si è rotto a Londra
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
lungo una riva del fiume
desolato e solo
perchè così triste mio bello?
mi domando dove vivete
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
sopra-avevo preparato l'evento
ora
era un oysterman giovane alto

 



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