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son poem

une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
je descends les chemins de jardin
complètement des larmes
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
je suis fevered
chère épouse
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
à minuit
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
je dois dire bonne nuit
pas du monde large de totalité
allé avant nous

 



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