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african american poetry

substance de la lune
il est allé
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
en ce moment
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
ĂŞtes vous vivant?
tressé et tissé
basculé dans le berceau du profond
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour

 



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