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mom poem

avant le saint en bronze solennel
nous qui se sont tenus
monde qui change sous ma main
vous êtes beau et fané
nuit mystérieuse
calme en tant que que deuxième été
vieux vin à boire
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée

 



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