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mother poem

quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della città
dai nostri posti nascosti
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
era non per quell'odore singolare
dal puntello, dal mare
forse
l'alba era verde mela
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri
un uccello ha cantato
non brucio incenso
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno

 



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