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thanksgiving poetry

ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
era un oysterman giovane alto
i poets dicono a
quando ho rinviato al tramonto
movimento del vostro corpo è come musica
osservare di lĂ 
basamento qui dal mio lato
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
non rimanga nient'altro

 



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