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friend poetry

irmo, eu sou fogo
o prado estava rastejando
sono, irmo cinzento da morte
acima de e para baixo vai
verdadeiro que voc diz que os deuses lhe so mais uso do que fairies
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
como ele de quem esprito na chama do meio-dia
quando eu era um menino na faculdade

 



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