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funny poetry

bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
en y de sĂ­ mismo
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
las canciones antiguas
el existir del cisne
tormenta
no permanezca no más
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
era no para ese olor singular
cuando un hecho se hace para la libertad
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
sobre el río hacen señas a mí

 



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