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pumpkin poem

l'aria č come una farfalla
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
mi chiedono dove sono stato
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
le veritŕ terribili questi sono
alla mezzanotte
in possa
sono andato su e giů le vie
era non per quell'odore singolare
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta cosě tanto oro
in pieno delle rotture

 



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