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grandmother poem

ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
glooms delle viv-quercie
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri
tristemente parlando
gloom
perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
cane dal percalle ed il gatto del calicò
glass-blower di tempo
è aumentato e l'ambra era il tramonto sul fiume
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
come un uomo nudo io va
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione

 



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