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prose poetry

ao lado de um campo stricken
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
acima de e para baixo vai
há uma hora do descanso calmo
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
caído assim
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma é athirst
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
quando uma ação for feita para a liberdade
na esfera

 



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