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I return to native forest pain
Luis Rosales.
Cantele Roberto Cabral
say death poems
almost never carry a piece of real death in their syllables.
A fly flies slow on the breath,
commits suicide in his mouth, subsequent,
has endorsed pro-life adults take
before the final impact, before sinking
as a projectile in the vineyards of my throne sarcastic
particular.
slashing to death his phallus poisonous
fingering the pale dark meat, wings
so soft, the ball dropped
learned from birth,
there, the routine of going to an unknown
cosmos and humid
where my tongue will be dressed in black
to officiate his requiem. Rodeo
cold before you do it,
this winter has been tortuous,
but not by the extensive ice, but for days
so extremely small,
stored in drawers puerile verses Leisure, mentally writing poems
desert and looking
needed crutches before the elders stretch their hands. -------------------------------------------------
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Poem poems belonging to With my name on the bed bent , won the national award Chords (Espiel). 2010.
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