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christmas poems

ciudad que no es una ciudad
en la medianoche
camino abajo de las trayectorias del jardín
gloom
dije
hermano, soy fuego
porqué lo haga
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
estaba parado
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
el prado se arrastraba
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
aquí cae ninguna luz
él incluso tendría su broma

 



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