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dark poetry

dans sa tente gardée
le soleil et vent et battement de mer
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
dans ma main je me tiens
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
il était un jeune oysterman grand
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
le parfum est venu
une fois ce gazon mou
en septembre
du soleil ni des étoiles

 



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