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birthday poetry

a noite era preta e drear
bonito
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
era uma oysterman novo alto
para a verdade, para o amor
quem é o corredor nos céus
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
esse ano
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
trançado e tecido
doubtless eu recordo ainda

 



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