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christmas poem

el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
pensamientos a través de mi cabeza
qué yo le deben
se hace el día
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
para poder ver cada lado de cada pregunta
dios
para la verdad, para el amor
en la medianoche
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
cuando era adaptó Londres
tristemente hablando

 



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