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kid poem

o que era ele os motores ditos
disse
você é bonito e desvanecido
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
não gire sua cabeça
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
não permaneça não mais
os prayers brancos pequenos
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
as canções velhas
eu gosto d
mundo que muda sob minha mão

 



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