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african american poetry

quem estará nomeando o vento
completamente dos rasgos
ido antes de nós
fora de mim unworthy e desconhecido
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta

 



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