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brother poem

éste es el arsenal
él vino tomarme por la mano
glooms de los vivir-robles
con su pelo flaying violentamente
le cuento con
en un viejo compartimiento se encendiĂł suavemente
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
raza alto-llevada
no hay escape al lado del rĂ­o
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan

 



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