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grandmother poem

pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
acima de e para baixo vai
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
eu sou fevered
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
completamente dos rasgos
veja que eu me dou a você
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte

 



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