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son poem

come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
questi sono
era non per quell'odore singolare
ascolti
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno
li ha fatti mai vedono un coccodrillo
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
una penna di acciaio
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole

 



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