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wedding poem

bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
era o outono do ano
e ainda andaram sobre
material da lua
perguntam-me onde eu estive
estourou o vinho feroz
uma pena do aço
deixe-nos piedade aqueles de que seja melhor fora do que nós săo

 



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