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death poem

i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
ci situiamo
stella-polvere e luce vaporous
qui si trova una signora la più bella
pensieri tramite la mia testa
parla non bene
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
oscillato nella culla del profondo
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce

 



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