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baby poem

il parle pas bien
filles de temps
beau
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
j'ai vu que vous hunched et tremblant sur les pierres
quand j'étais un garçon à l'université
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
et ils marchaient toujours dessus

 



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