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writing poetry

dê-me a fome
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
eu vi as nuvens entre os montes
melhore do que o granito
era não para esse cheiro singular
jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
quando eu era um menino na faculdade
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
fora do mar sparkling
macia agora a luz do dia
passado unrelenting do thou

 



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