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child poem

têm você não ouvido
era muitas e muito um ano há
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
era uma oysterman novo alto
material da lua
e meu nome é truthful
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
acima do sul na ruptura do dia
eu resido na montanha da tabela
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte

 



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