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concrete poetry

eu não posso dizê-lo agora
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
a escuridão
através do peito aching da terra larga
os prayers brancos pequenos
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
trançado e tecido
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você
veja, desta moeda falsa dele

 



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