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poetry poem

ascolti
ci è un paese in pieno di vino
nella sfera
la festività reale è stata fatta
mescolisi
una foschia stava guidando giù
non appenda corona
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
senza dubbio mi ricordo di ancora
questi sono
la neve bisbiglia circa me
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
un miglio dietro

 



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