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■ The oak
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Was a quiet voice like the voice of a beggar
later the song had flown along my neck to strongly rush like a deluge of water to my head where it spun at length before I fell asleep my eyes where under siege by that woman who with her gaze can shatter the weapons of lecherous gods and who reminded me of my grandmother who died with liberty between her lips defeated cholera and cancer but was killed by bullets since then I’ve written on the dead woman’s coffin till one day her eyelids will open I could hear the song climbing in that woman’s body expanding her breasts and crossing her hands and legs and ribs in marvelous ripples in her eyes the irises opened like eclipses and that song contrived to penetrate me as well
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