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angel poem

arriba y abajo de él va
trenzado y tejido
si era muy seguro
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
felicidad
apenas ahora
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
tengo que decir buonas noches
a lo largo de una orilla
el solo puńo apretado levantado y alista
tormenta

 



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