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sommeil gentiment dans vos tombes humbles
ville qui n'est pas une ville
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
hors de la fenêtre une mer des arbres verts
y a il quiconque là
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
les jours hypocrites
elle connaît un dégagement bon marché

 



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