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sad poem

una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
la penso splendido giusto
truely
due file dei cavoli
ad alcuno i dii grassi
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
e pane del breaketh non di più
il singolo pugno serrato alzato e ready
nelle mattine nube-grige
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless

 



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