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wedding poem

eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
irmão, eu sou fogo
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
não se aflija que sobre
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
em possa
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
as canções antigas
dê-me
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel

 



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