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um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
há um país completamente do vinho
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
sombras voadas que varrem perto
perguntam-me onde eu estive
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
eu estou morrendo
deixe o unsaid encantador das palavras

 



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