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ville qui n'est pas une ville
allé avant nous
je suis allé ŕ travers les rues
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
ŕ l'aube, il a dit
ne soyez pas faux
les petites pričres blanches
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
s'il
roses et or
dites-moi
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux

 



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