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thanksgiving poetry

mi chiedono dove sono stato
come le aquile sul high alto
ho visto la prima pera
il corpo puň limitare
cittŕ che non č una cittŕ
ho conosciuto il silenzio delle stelle e del mare
il giorno č fatto
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
nel porto di nuovo York
tempesta
cara moglie
indietro, giri indietro
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere

 



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