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short poem

eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
sad são que sabem não o amor
não do mundo largo do todo
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
a festa real foi feita
há qualquer um lá
estourou o vinho feroz
e ainda andaram sobre
a neve sussurra sobre mim
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
era não para esse cheiro singular
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble

 



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