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modern poetry

uma tempestade está montando na maré
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
têm você não ouvido
o que era ele os motores ditos
o céu
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
eu ouvi o vento o dia inteiro
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
receoso não mais, eu digo

 



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