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suicide poem

dans toutes les choses non parlées de
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
sous la lune de moisson
vous faites ne pas entendre
je sais pas où
deux rangées des choux
roses et or
je me suis tenu
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques

 



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