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anniversary poetry

baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
acima do sul na ruptura do dia
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
balançado no berço do profundo
paredes e enorme elevados
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
esteja em mim como os modos eternal
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
disse

 



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