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gothic poetry

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
do sol nem das estrelas
eu amei uma mulher
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
eu ganhei a raça
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
dê-me a fome
sol e vento e batida do mar
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
carrinho aqui por meu lado

 



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