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poem

vea, de esta falsificación de él
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
no éramos muchos
encima de los prados ricos con maíz
cómoyo ayude a la derecha al mundo que va mal
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
ella sabe un lanzamiento barato
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
mire hacia fuera sobre las estrellas, mi amor
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió

 



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