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cowboy poetry

sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
vea que me doy usted
el cielo
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
debajo del timón del guerrero
en el frunce de la oscuridad y piden
por las mañanas nube-grises
hace mil años silenciosos

 



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