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dark poetry

simplicité
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
je me tiens par temps gris froid
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
un mille derrière
sous la barre du guerrier
désolé et seul

 



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