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poetry poem

amico, di cui il sorriso č venuto essere
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
era una bellezza nei giorni
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
lungo le serie
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
bello
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
circa ha sporto querela al padrone

 



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