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concrete poetry

l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione
sono il vento che esita
da solo
la festività reale è stata fatta
la luce ritirata
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
quando venite stasera
per venire così presto a questo ha immaginato l'oscurità
alti pareti ed enorme
che cosa era esso i motori detti
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
figlie di tempo

 



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