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prose poetry

como ella
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
paredes y enorme altos
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
las viejas canciones

 



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