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poem for dad

hace usted oír
le detesté
con la puesta del sol
como baja el igualar
las verdades tremendas éstos sean
a alguno los dioses gordos
no esté enojado con mí
una tormenta está montando en la marea
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
vi la primera pera
la mujer faltó mucho, cómo usted llama a mí, llamada a mí
dondeyo encuéntrele
dios

 



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