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african american poetry

ella puede ser que lo haya sabido en el resorte anterior
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
viejo vino a beber
estoy muriendo
ponemos
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
cuando usted viene esta noche
soy fevered
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
la nieve susurra sobre mí

 



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