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A. Pollmann

A. Pollmann

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    7
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Cielo de Lima

Ya no eres gris.
Eres un manto blanco infinito
Sobre un infierno aburrido
Y triste.
Tienes un puñal clavado en el pech

Tú y Moloch

Quiero tenerte
a tí
y al tenerte
derrumbar ilusiones.
Ahí poder fumar

El hombre con la barba negra

Tu poesía es el post-rock de
mis noches solitarias
Gran hombre barbudo
¡Aúllas!
un gran saxo dorado seráfico

Bathroom Thoughts

The sun rises in the occident
and I feel a little bit lost.
What happened to me? I
do not know.
What happened to you? I

Poem (I face the white page)

I face the white page and
miss you
although you’re lying there only a
few steps behind me,
lying there, with that lovely face

Cigarrillo

Oscuridad, y una luz perdida
rojiza suspendida de mi boca que
emana destrucción y seguridad.
Sin ella, yo y el azul
negroso infinito, y yo,

Lima Inferno

Oh, devil that haunts me
standing in front of supermarkets
snickering
small and haunted yourself
Oh little devil

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