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The Dictators

The Dictators

blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
and join the dead voices
The delicate dictator is talking
and the blue mouthhttps://read.99csw.coms freshly buried.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
The Dictators
and the rapid laughs w九*九*藏*書ith gloves on
cross the corridors at times
with a snout full of ooze and silence
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
Betweread.99csw.comen the coconut palms the graves are full
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even withoutread.99csw.com light.
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
Pablo Neruda
petal that九-九-藏-書 brings nausea.
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant