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kid poem

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
nós colocamos
rosas e ouro
não seja falso
no porto de york novo
estes sejam
não gire sua cabeça
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
ruídos que strive rasgar
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
cidade que não é uma cidade

 



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