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prose poetry

se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
ho visto la prima pera
dal mare scintillante
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
questi cuori sono stati tessuti delle gioie umane e cure
forse
fra le montagne ho vagato
che probabilitŕ spiteful ruba i unawares
dal pavimento al soffitto

 



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