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birthday poetry

no éramos muchos
el aire es como una mariposa
el eliminar, luchando vainly
porqué lo haga
aflíjase no para el invisible
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
ese año
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
tome mis pulseras
en alguna parte leí un cuento extraño, viejo, oxidado

 



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