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poetry for kid

minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
eu amei uma mulher
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
caras bonitas, tragical
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
é frequentemente não assim?
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
glass-blower do tempo
a algum os deuses gordos

 



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