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death poetry

no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
mientras que estaba parado escuchar, discreto mudo
no éramos muchos
una milla detrás
el mirar más allá
y cómo podría usted sueño de la reunión
todos tragan los años
como miento cubierto adentro, defendido adentro
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
en el amanecer, él dijo
me pregunto donde usted vive

 



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