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prose poetry

désolé et seul
splendor doux
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
j'ai eu une crainte dans ma vie
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait

 



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