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prose poetry

jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
do assoalho ao teto
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
quem estará nomeando o vento
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave

 



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