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mother poem

ciò è l'arsenale
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
un uccello ha cantato
ma non posso ora leggerlo
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri
non sia arrabbiato con me
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
come come le stelle è questo il bianco, facce nameless
ho visto che il dio voi lo dubita?

 



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