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brother poem

con su pelo flaying violentamente
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
y pan del breaketh no más
las naves están mintiendo en la bahía
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
sol y viento y golpe del mar
tristemente hablando
he sabido el silencio de las estrellas y del mar
soy el viento que duda
melancolía, azul era

 



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