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suicide poetry

el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
vivido por la orilla
en el frunce de la oscuridad y piden
ella era una belleza en los días
gloom
ella estalló el vino feroz
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
a lo largo de una orilla
una vida en la onda del océano
éste es el arsenal
dondeyo encuéntrele

 



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