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suicide poem

veda lo sperimentale
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
sopra il fiume beckon a me
uno per uno, come va da un albero
che cosa io devono voi
come esso
l'alba era verde mela
la festività reale è stata fatta
tutti dentro e tutti senza di me
ora che mi sono raffreddato a voi
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
potremmo ma sapere
tre anni fa oggi
uno sguardo è ma un raggio

 



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