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life poetry

a agonia de ter demasiado poder
em sua barraca guardada
ame-me no último, ou se você não
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
talvez
eu estou morrendo
escute
pela ponte rude
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
como águias na elevação ascendente

 



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