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birthday poetry

cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
en su tienda guardada
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
era muchas y mucho hace un ańo
con alegría y maravilla
no dé vuelta a su cabeza
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
arqueó la inundación

 



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