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kid poem

tengo gusto de ella
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
amé a mujer
perro de la guinga y el gato del calicó
le detesté
quién ama la lluvia
ciudad que no es una ciudad
ochenta años han pasado, y más
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
algunos días más ventosos


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