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autumn poem

elle a éclaté le vin féroce
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
l'aube était vert pomme
allé avant nous
y a il quiconque là
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
à minuit
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
j'ai jeté mon âme à l'air comme un vol de faucon
je remplis cette tasse
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de

 



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