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thanksgiving poetry

dal ponticello rude
forse è materia che avete morto
come un uomo nudo io va
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
amo rubare per un po'via
quando un atto è fatto per la libertà
in settembre
li prevedo
per potere vedere ogni lato di ogni domanda
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
glooms delle viv-quercie

 



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