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black poetry

che cosa noi ora farà
su e giù va
pensieri tramite la mia testa
là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
una foschia stava guidando giù
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
che cosa era esso i motori detti
esistere dello swan
era un oysterman giovane alto
la nerezza
nel porto di nuovo York
ho fatto una pausa la stoffa per tendine aperta

 



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