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suicide poetry

algum queixou-se ao mestre
não se aflija que sobre
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
material da lua
mundo que muda sob minha mão
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo
glass-blower do tempo
trançado e tecido
no porto de york novo
na esfera
filhas do tempo
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar

 



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