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candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
fate sentirsi
ciò è l'arsenale
là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
l'alba era verde mela
ho avuto un sogno e mi sono svegliato con esso
ora che mi sono raffreddato a voi
era un oysterman giovane alto
sotto la luna della raccolta
non dal mondo largo di tutto

 



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