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prose poetry

je suis vieux et aveugle
remplacez la vision du plaisir
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
les jours hypocrites
splendor doux
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
donc je ne puis pas
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
simplement parlant
je les ai entendus la nuit

 



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