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christmas poetry

usted oye la lluvia?
de nuestros lugares ocultados
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
fuera de la ventana un mar de árboles verdes
déme el hambre
tengo gusto de ella
tome mis pulseras
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
con su pelo flaying violentamente
tristemente hablando

 



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