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concrete poetry

sono fevered
prima del san bronze solenne
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
sentite la pioggia?
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
era l'autunno dell'anno
passato inesorabile di thou
tutto l'mio amore per il mio dolce

 



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