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gothic poetry

ella estalló el vino feroz
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
hermoso
le detesté
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
había un strangeness en sus labios
travails de la tierra
caras hermosas, tragical
de piso al techo
ruédeme abajo por el prado
hombre frío severo
plantemos

 



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