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retirement poem

y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
estoy muriendo
le detesté
cuál era él los motores dichos
por completo de rasgones
estoy viejo y oculto
he echado el mundo
levantado de los muertos
a lo largo de los bancos
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
era una diosa ere el mármol me encontró
en su tienda guardada

 



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Second Mortgage

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