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poems

disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
estoy viejo y oculto
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
él vino tomarme por la mano
el existir del cisne
en un viejo compartimiento se encendió suavemente
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
muy bien, usted liberales
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
la agonía del tener demasiada energía

 



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