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baby poem

ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
les jours hypocrites
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
une pensée gentiment solennelle
ville qui n'est pas une ville
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
le soleil est vers le haut
l'obscurité
le bonbon avec la fougčre et s'est levé
je les ai offerts tout l'adieu

 



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