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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-03-30 | [Este texto, tienes que leerlo en english] | Inscrito en la biblioteca por Virgil Titarenco
For you, you, whoever, wherever you are
in time to come, in a year or in fifty who have grabbed me, found me on the cluttered bookstall and gone, book clutched in your hand, or stuffed in pocket, to the near café or steaming snack bar and over the pie and coffee opened up the pages for you, quiet girl, young man, in the youth of your life, who read some pieces then turn to your own thoughts, your emotions and write your eight lines, or fifty yes! yes! I would arouse in you the spectral nerve sweet as sex, for this craft its breath of life wafted out and recorded that it may be such a stir one time, for you
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