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prose poetry

nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
como águias na elevação ascendente
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
escute o mar soando
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você
existir da cisne
prazeres mid e palácios embora nós podemos vaguear
como uma vela branca

 



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