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funeral poem

não gire sua cabeça
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
com o por do sol
mas alas, sonhos justos
com os olhos meek, marrons
o justo e stately empregada doméstica, cujos olhos
e assim vai
o alvorecer era verde maçã
os poetas dizem
uma pena do aço
caído assim
deixe-me ser sad
o que era ele os motores ditos
como nivelar cai

 



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