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math poem

você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
na esfera
deus
eu gosto d
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
as sombras colocam ao longo de broadway
felicidade
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira

 



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