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autumn poetry

non prego per pace
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
corsa alto-sopportata
ci è un paese in pieno di vino
in corridoi di sonno avete vagato vicino
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
ho detto
parla non bene
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
era un oysterman giovane alto
tempesta

 



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