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le plus triste de l'année
comme bougie blanche
frère, je suis le feu
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
un regard est mais un rayon
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
je dois dire bonne nuit
course haut-soutenue
dossier une nuit de vol
il y a un pays complètement de vin
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette


 



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