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black poetry

dicami non
dove io trovili
sotto il timone del guerriero
i nostri momenti piacevoli volano
tutti si acquietano lungo il potomac
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito

 



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