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prose poetry

mire detrás con los ojos longing y sepa que seguiré
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
nunca en toda mi vida
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
materia de la luna
ella sabe un lanzamiento barato
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
no me quemo ningún incienso
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado

 



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