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death poem

talvez
como nivelar cai
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
quem é o corredor nos céus
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
para trás, gire para trás

 



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