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concrete poetry

o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
eu disse
o dia é feito
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
deixe o unsaid encantador das palavras
nobility da morte outra vez

 



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