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mercoledì 20 febbraio 2008

#7

you reject me and I've sewed up thousand of awakenings;
like knots of ropes all in row, the rings on my back remain straits,
tightened to the eyes of my flesh. if we had time
as we were little ones in other dwellings, in curved times
in the same hours, tomorrow I would be here
a drunk garden of flowers, a keen and giant body,
with a wrinkle on its face, that plead for you.



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