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son poem

di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
glass-blower di tempo
in tutte le cose non parlate di
sotto la luna della raccolta
ciň č l'arsenale
ci era uno strangeness sui vostri labbri
uno con voi
due file dei cavoli

 



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