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prose poetry

je meurs
le long d'une rive
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
c'est l'arsenal
les jours hypocrites
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
dites-moi
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
je remplis cette tasse

 



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