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death poetry

porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
babylon -- onde eu vou sonhar
no porto de york novo
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
para então without
quando eu estive escutar, discreetly dumb
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
o ar é como uma borboleta

 



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