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thanksgiving poetry

mentre mi sono levato in piedi ascoltare, discreetly dumb
glooms delle viv-quercie
una foschia stava guidando giù
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno
dai nostri posti nascosti
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
ciò è la nave della perla
nelle mattine nube-grige

 



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