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mom poem

la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
se avessi saputo lo stretto una prigione è amore
uno per uno, come va da un albero
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
lascilo muoversi lentamente tramite la via
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
così perso
il fratello, sono fuoco
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
due file dei cavoli
cantili ancora alla canzone cantati

 



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