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teen poetry

bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
esse ano
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
todos tragam os anos
vinho velho a beber
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros

 



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