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son poem

il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
perchè
le ombre delle navi
la festività reale è stata fatta
dal puntello, dal mare
pensieri tramite la mia testa
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
ombre alate che scopano vicino
morbido come la base nella terra
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscurità

 



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