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friend poetry

em números mournful
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
levantado dos mortos
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
eu vi-o uma vez antes
disse
o ar é como uma borboleta
doce e forte
com o por do sol
três anos há hoje
deve ir para trás, disse
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas

 



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