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suicide poem

ombre alate che scopano vicino
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
indietro, giri indietro
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
se lo slayer rosso pensa slays
per allora senza
il prato stava strisciando
il sole è in su
ha una radura, loveliness vento-riparato

 



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