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david dabydeen

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Una piccola tabaccheria. 4

David Dabydeen Turner I dream to be small again, even though My mother caught me with my fingers In a panoose jar, and whilst I licked them clean And reached for more, she came upon me. I sit in the savannah minding cows, Watching it climb and plunge all day. When I strip, Mount the tree and dive I hit my head On a stone waiting at the bottom of the pond. She bids her famished children eat Of their father’s...
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