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concrete poetry

non posso ora dirvi
la notte č scura ed i venti di inverno
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
la nerezza
tramite il seno facente male della vasta terra
le preghiere bianche piccole
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
braided e tessuto
disprezzo i miei amici piů di voi
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui

 



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