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black poetry

porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
no me quemo ningún incienso
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
ésta es la nave de la perla
en pasillos del sueño usted vagó cerca
el sol está para arriba
cuando las horas del día se numeran
escrito en una noche del vuelo
la medianoche pasada
de'bil-se va volando la canción
ciudad que no es una ciudad
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate

 



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