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concrete poetry

pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
per veritŕ, per amore
chi chiamerŕ il vento
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
amilo in fine, o se non
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
con gioia e wonder
tempesta
forse č materia che avete morto

 



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