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baby poem

behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
stuff della luna
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
figlie di tempo
le tonalità della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
due file dei cavoli
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
prima del san bronze solenne
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
osservare di là
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
al lato di un campo raso

 



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