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birthday poem

candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
nel porto di nuovo York
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
quando il velare dagli occhi è alzato
li ho fatti un'offerta tutto l'addio
conosce un rilascio poco costoso
ho visto la prima pera
basamento qui dal mio lato
tristemente parlando
amo rubare per un po'via
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred

 



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