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funeral poem

tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
j'ai vu la première poire
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
j'ai aimé une femme
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
vous êtes beau et fané

 



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