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poems

scattando in su, cadendo
sono vecchio e cieco
perchè così triste mio bello?
è venuto prenderlo dalla mano
esistere dello swan
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
molto bene, voi liberali
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione

 



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