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mom poem

mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
qui appellera le vent
je suis allé à travers les rues
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux
c'est l'arsenal
ne soyez pas faux
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
y a il quiconque là
seule
nous qui se sont tenus
je me tiens par temps gris froid
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire

 



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