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black poetry

i giorni malinconici sono venuto
impaurito nient'altro, dico
sotto il timone del guerriero
ottanta anni hanno passato e più
amo rubare per un po'via
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
fate sentirsi
sono fevered
sonno, fratello grigio della morte

 



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