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funny poetry

su pelo hermoso
revuelva
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él
antes del santo de bronce solemne
por las mańanas nube-grises
ella dijo
usted oye la lluvia?
en alguna parte leí un cuento extrańo, viejo, oxidado
era no para ese olor singular
a lo largo de los bancos
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
encima del sur en la rotura del día

 



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