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Death is a pineapple in the cake of death

WHIch wing?

I deny death I don’t know why

Ask the swans who are rocking me under the chair forest

The dragon I saw

Small as my jupiter finger

Looking back with miniature flames

The whole middle ages

And vanish quickly

Beauteous apparition i was thinking of war A poem

Beauty must be reckoned with

(fiori per Pasolini)

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