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retirement poem

bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
tous apaisent le long du potomac
hauts murs et énorme
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
je suis une femme
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
quand vous venez ce soir
donc je ne puis pas

 



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