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type of poetry

todos esos tesoros que mienten
levantado de los muertos
déme el hambre
flores de bebés
como vela blanca
el existir del cisne
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio
vi que el dios usted la duda?
vi con los ojos abiertos
una mirada es solamente un rayo
el solo puńo apretado levantado y alista
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío

 



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