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The horribleness steps into the unknown river.
The eyes are looking at us.
We are prisoners and we don't know what explodes the eyes.
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[This is my exercise in Federico Garcia Lorca.]
tambourine is playing
the Greekishness is spreading its wings
there are limits to being unknown
tambourine is playing in the dark night
it is the night of being European
[This is virtually untranslatable. At least I won't try. It's not really a poem.]
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