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Under the woods
In the pajonales
Over the bridges
In the canals
There are corpses

In the threshing floor of a train that never stops < in the wake of a ship that is shipwrecked
In an olilla, that vanishes
In the docks the docks the trampolines the docks
There are Corpses

In the networks of the fishermen
In the stumbling of the cangrejales
In that of the hair that is taken
With a hook on the hook
There are corpses

In the precise of this absence
In what streak that word
In his divine presence
Commander, in his streak
There Corpses

In the hot sleeves of the passport woman who flings herself through the wig window with a baby on his back
In the barquillero who forces himself to make a bottle

In the bottle that is empana
In the cord, in the straw, there
Hay Corpses

Precisely there, and in that richa
of which frayed, and in that sideline of which it is not convenient that it be said, and
in the disdain of which it is not said that it does not think, perhaps
in which it is not said that it is known ...
There are Corpses

However, in the language of that shoe that sneaks away, to the mirror, in the straight line of that buckle that runs, unintentionally, on the ceiling, legs above that purse that deflates, like a buhon, and without however, in that c ... what, how was it written? c ... de qué ?, mas, Con todo
Hay Corpses

Under bushes
In vacant lots
On bridges
In ditches < In the beat of a train that never stops
In the wake of a ship that founders
In the wavelet, vanishing
On the wharves the trainstations the springboards the seawalls
There's corpses

In the fishermen's nets
In the potholes of the crab-marsh
In her whose hair is caught in an unfastened barrette
There's corpses < / p>In the fervid sleeves of the woman with a passport who hurls herself from the ship's porthole with a babe in arms
In the ice-cream man who has to sugarcoat peanuts
In the peanutvendor coated
in guts, in chaff, right there,
There's corpses

Just there, and in that richa of what unravels, and in that skew of what's inconvenient to say, and < in the disdain of she who you should not say does not think, maybe in what is not said but what should be known ... There's corpses

And yet in the tonguelet of that shoe that comes apart when fastened, dissimulating, in the spectacles, in the strap that comes undone from its buckle, without meaning to, in the
upsidedown shelter of this counterfeit coiner that deflates like a puffed- up owl, and without doubt in that c ... what, how to write it? c of what? Cun-Tinued,
There's corpses

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