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poem for dad

dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
por completo de rasgones
cuando las horas del día se numeran
sé lo que usted va a decir
todos tragan los años
a lo largo de una orilla
a lo largo de los bancos
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
se hace el día
he venido en el desierto porque mi alma es athirst
sol y viento y golpe del mar

 



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