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family poetry

travails della terra
sono fevered
non appenda corona
mi chiedono dove sono stato
non ci è fuga dal fiume
lasci il unsaid bello di parole
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente
non prego per pace
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
ho visto le nubi fra le colline
senza sosta
forse è materia che avete morto
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo

 



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