my old voice was ignorant of the dense
bitter juices.
The soothsayer
licking my feet wet in the fragile ferns. Oh
ancient voice of my love, oh
voice of my truth, my voice
ay open side, when all the roses
flowed from my tongue
and lawn impassive teeth did not know the horse!
're here drinking my blood , drinking my mood
heavy child, as my eyes
break in the wind
with aluminum and the voices of drunks.
door Let me go where Eve and Adam eat ants
dazzled fertile fish.
Let me go, man with the horns of the forest
stretched alegrísimos
and jumps.
I know the wider use
secret pin that has an old rusty
and I know the horror of waking eyes
on the concrete surface of the plate.
I do not want or dream world, divine voice,
want my freedom, my human love
in the darkest corner of the breeze that nobody wants.
My human love! Those dogs
pursue marine and wind stalks
logs neglected. Oh
old voice, burning your tongue
this voice and talc tin!
I mourn because I feel like crying children
as the last bank
because I'm not a man or a poet, not a leaf, but a pulse
wounded things probing the other side. I mourn
saying my name,
pink, child and fir on the shore of this lake,
to speak my truth as a man of blood
killing me the mockery and the suggestion of the word.
No, no, I do not ask, I desire, my voice
freed me lick your hands.
In the maze of screens is my bare moon
receiving punishment and encenizado clock.
So I spoke. So when I spoke
Saturn
trains stopped and the mist and Sleep and Death were looking for me. I was looking
where cows moo with paws and
page where fleet balances my body between opposites.
bitter juices.
The soothsayer
licking my feet wet in the fragile ferns. Oh
ancient voice of my love, oh
voice of my truth, my voice
ay open side, when all the roses
flowed from my tongue
and lawn impassive teeth did not know the horse!
're here drinking my blood , drinking my mood
heavy child, as my eyes
break in the wind
with aluminum and the voices of drunks.
door Let me go where Eve and Adam eat ants
dazzled fertile fish.
Let me go, man with the horns of the forest
stretched alegrísimos
and jumps.
I know the wider use
secret pin that has an old rusty
and I know the horror of waking eyes
on the concrete surface of the plate.
I do not want or dream world, divine voice,
want my freedom, my human love
in the darkest corner of the breeze that nobody wants.
My human love! Those dogs
pursue marine and wind stalks
logs neglected. Oh
old voice, burning your tongue
this voice and talc tin!
I mourn because I feel like crying children
as the last bank
because I'm not a man or a poet, not a leaf, but a pulse
wounded things probing the other side. I mourn
saying my name,
pink, child and fir on the shore of this lake,
to speak my truth as a man of blood
killing me the mockery and the suggestion of the word.
No, no, I do not ask, I desire, my voice
freed me lick your hands.
In the maze of screens is my bare moon
receiving punishment and encenizado clock.
So I spoke. So when I spoke
Saturn
trains stopped and the mist and Sleep and Death were looking for me. I was looking
where cows moo with paws and
page where fleet balances my body between opposites.
Some pictures I've searched the internet to get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhere Federico García Lorca was inspired, in this case in Vermont (Canada). Poetry Poet in New York.
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