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suicide poetry

short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
o dia é feito
assim perdido
ao longo dos bancos
quem estará nomeando o vento
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
veio fazer exame de me pela mão
macio como a cama na terra
duas fileiras dos repolhos
eu estou cantando-lhe
macia weeping
eu encho este copo

 



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