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baby poem

sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
nós colocamos
sol e vento e batida do mar
um com você
glass-blower do tempo
eu detestei-o
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
de nossos lugares escondidos
este é o arsenal
o que era ele os motores ditos
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro

 



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