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footprint poem

o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
material da lua
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
o prado estava rastejando
caras bonitas, tragical
travails da terra
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
eu quero saber onde você vive
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo
eu ouvi-os na noite

 



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