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autumn poem

ha scoppiato il vino feroce
dicami pił di meno o dicami di pił
l'alba era verde mela
andato prima di noi
č ci qualcuno lą
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
alla mezzanotte
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
riempio questa tazza
non si addolori che finito

 



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