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death poem

muito bem, você liberais
têm você andar visto através da vila
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
eu ouvi-os na noite
balançado no berço do profundo
na esfera
quando eu era um menino na faculdade
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
a algum os deuses gordos
mundo que muda sob minha mão
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo

 



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