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baby poem

sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
ci situiamo
sole e vento e battimento del mare
uno con voi
glass-blower di tempo
li ho detestati
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
dai nostri posti nascosti
ciň č l'arsenale
che cosa era esso i motori detti
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello

 



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