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thanksgiving poetry

un miglio dietro
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
quando ho esaminato i vostri occhi
a che cosa una donna la paragonerà cara
in corridoi di sonno avete vagato vicino
veda lo sperimentale
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
dio
come livellare cade
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
l'aria è come una farfalla
il corpo può limitare
andato prima di noi

 



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