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brother poem

do sol nem das estrelas
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
há uma hora do descanso calmo
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
nobility da morte outra vez
talvez
glass-blower do tempo
diga-me năo
é frequentemente năo assim?
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
uma vez este turf macio
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade

 



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