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grandmother poem

sotto la luna della raccolta
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della città
nei numeri mournful
l'amore è stato cantato mille sensi
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
come esso

 



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