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Woodpecker










Turn cardinal red,
whose cap flies away,
no hat fitting.

My head is too big,
swelled with pride
my existence waits for me.

The night unfolds the sad part of the face,

gently asking the lines to rest
sadness is not holding those lines in place to make wrinkles,

The darkness is kind
I unpack the suitcase of my mind
and lay out all my

socks and underwear
in neat rows

beside my pillow.

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