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sad death poem

un pájaro cantó
qué yo le deben
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
éste es el arsenal
esposa querida
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
hermoso
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
todavía trece años
debajo del timón del guerrero
hace usted no oír
nosotros que estaban parados
hermano, soy fuego

 



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