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narrative poetry

felicidade
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
estrela-poeira e luz vaporosa
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
muito bem, você liberais
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
flores dos bebês

 



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