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narrative poetry

il y a un pays complètement de vin
je vous ai détesté
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
en matins nuage-gris
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
le long d'une rive
dites-moi pas
j'aime ma vie, mais pas trop bien
j'ai gagné la course
un oiseau a chanté
voyez, de cette contrefaçon de lui

 



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