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prose poetry

estes sejam
para então without
tem por muito tempo a luz solar do verão brilhada
agora que eu lhe esfriei
mas alas, sonhos justos
ao lado de um campo stricken
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
uma vez este turf macio
eu ouvi-os na noite
dê-me

 



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