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thanksgiving poem

tristemente parlando
tutti dentro e tutti senza di me
mi domando dove vivete
sono fevered
in tutte le cose non parlate di
così perso
l'aria è piena l'alba del e la molla
impaurito nient'altro, dico
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
rinnovi la visione di piacere
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male

 



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