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sad death poem

seule
ne soyez pas faux
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
allé avant nous
élever, comme vent a soufflé
treize ans toujours
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse

 



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