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autumn poem

che cosa noi ora farŕ
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
non sia arrabbiato con me
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
conosco non dove
ad alcuno i dii grassi
persino avrebbe suo scherzo

 



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