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thanksgiving poem

vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
exister de cygne
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
il aurait même sa plaisanterie
peut-être
remuez
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
écoutez
avec le coucher du soleil

 



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