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concrete poetry

sono vecchio e cieco
lungo una riva del fiume
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
lascilo muoversi lentamente tramite la via
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
così perso
splendor dolce
rose ed oro

 



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