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type of poetry

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
ascolti il mare suonante
riempio questa tazza
dai nostri posti nascosti
quando vado di nuovo a terra
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
uno per uno, come va da un albero
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
come un uomo nudo io va
come le aquile sul high alto
vi ricordate di
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo

 



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