A day will come, to tear down the street
your muccadores of Iranian painting and silk-worm Orgosolo, your curittos zippones and hand-painted by hand as the lean land.
A day will come,
a tear from your neck ...
watermarks the golden grass,
your Camisas biancas embroidered .. washed with ash. You will
with bare breasts as Women of Mycenae .. but have never been women plastic .. and that your nakedness is freedom, that you did not have to be dressed
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