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contemporary poetry

se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
all'alba, ha detto
una foschia stava guidando giĂą
non prego per pace
dolce e forte
l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
da solo
dialo
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
gloom
tristemente parlando
ultima mezzanotte
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
ho guardato sul cielo glorious

 



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