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concrete poetry

take my bracelets
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
the hypocritic days
my sorrow, when she's here with me
and with the humming bird
i know not where
i am the wind that wavers
who is the runner in the skies
by the rude bridge
musing, between the sunset and the dark
all down the years
do not turn your head
two rows of cabbages

 



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