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christmas poem

le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
penses par ma tte
ce qui je vous doivent
le jour est fait
dans des vos bras tait le plaisir immobile
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
pour pouvoir voir chaque ct de chaque question
un dieu
pour la vrit, pour l'amour
minuit
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
quand j'tais a enfonc Londres
tristement parlant

 



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