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suicide poetry

são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
irmão, eu sou fogo
os poetas dizem
eu amo roubar por algum tempo afastado
o que era ele os motores ditos
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas
eu sou velho e cego

 



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