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black poetry

las verdades tremendas éstos sean
ella debe ir detrás, ella dijo
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
hay una hora del resto pacífico
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
mejore que el granito
mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
ésta es la canción de la juventud

 



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