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short love poem

perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta cosě tanto oro
era un oysterman giovane alto
per coprire il pensiero ardente
oscillato nella culla del profondo
debole-č traversata la canzone
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione
come come le stelle č questo il bianco, facce nameless
del sole né stelle
il cielo
ho sentito tutto il giorno il vento

 



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