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death poetry

dal ponticello rude
le canzoni antiche
i poets dicono a
nel porto di nuovo York
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
ancora il suo gray oscilla la torretta sopra il mare
riassunto su una notte di volo
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
la neve bisbiglia circa me
il padrone dei destini umani sono io
sono fevered
morbido come la base nella terra

 



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