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mother poem

el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
dios
el mirar más allá
cuando el velo de los ojos se levanta
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
la pienso espléndido justo
materia de la luna
noche misteriosa
a lo largo de una orilla
y va tan
por lo tanto no puedo
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
esté en mí como los humores eternos
no éramos muchos

 



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