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baby poem

esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
mulher boa
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
a escuridão

 



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