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dark poetry

felicitŕ
su e giů va
il corpo puň limitare
scattando in su, cadendo
sto cantando voi
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
quale si conservare
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
non sia arrabbiato con me
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
rinnovi la visione di piacere

 



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