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short poem

una foschia stava guidando giù
l'aria è come una farfalla
una storia molto notevole questo è
il mio dispiacere, quando è qui con me
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
mescolisi
amavo una donna
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto

 



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