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concrete poetry

à minuit
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
si perdu
tressé et tissé
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
en septembre
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
fleurs des bébés
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville

 



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