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suicide poetry

ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
č spesso non cosě?
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
la fragranza č venuto
dicami piů di meno o dicami di piů
figlie di tempo
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
l'aria č piena l'alba del e la molla
il dolce con il fern ed č aumentato

 



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