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black poetry

no hay escape al lado del río
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
suavemente llorando
usted dice que usted me ama
ido antes de nosotros
vi con los ojos abiertos
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
por el puente grosero
los poetas dicen
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
soy fevered
flores de bebés
voy mi manera complacently
vea, de esta falsificación de él

 



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