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free love poem

velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
nunca em toda minha vida
de nossos lugares escondidos
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
conseqüentemente eu não posso
são você acordado?
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
se ele
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade


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