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concrete poetry

l'aube était vert pomme
un regard est mais un rayon
donc je ne puis pas
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
complètement des larmes
je l'aime
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
le bonbon avec la fougère et s'est levé

 



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