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funny poetry

el prado se arrastraba
aquí miente una señora más hermosa
de piso al techo
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
aflíjase no para el invisible
ella era una belleza en los días

 



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