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suicide poetry

je descends les chemins de jardin
dernier minuit
elle a dit
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
sous la lune de moisson
à partir du sud à la coupure du jour
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs

 



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