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suicide poetry

el banquete real fue hecho
por las mañanas nube-grises
no se aflija que encima
ponemos
he sabido el silencio de las estrellas y del mar
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
antes del santo de bronce solemne
en alguna parte leí un cuento extraño, viejo, oxidado

 



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