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prose poetry

nobility della morte ancora
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
parla non bene
per allora senza
non posso ora dirvi
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
dolce e forte
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione
sia in me come gli atteggiamenti eternal
abbiamo nessuno shame?
amico, di cui il sorriso è venuto essere
chi chiamerà il vento
che cosa io devono voi

 



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