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child poem

candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
forse è materia che avete morto
migliori che il granito
alti pareti ed enorme
chi ama la pioggia
il giorno è fatto
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
è ci qualcuno là
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
il cielo
quando ho rinviato al tramonto

 



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