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prose poetry

un orage monte sur la marée
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
j'ai vu avec les yeux ouverts
musing, entre le coucher du soleil et l'obscurité

 



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