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black poetry

il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
le plus triste de l'année
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
pour puis en dehors
doux et fort
du soleil ni des étoiles
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles

 



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