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autumn poetry

il parle pas bien
quelques jours plus venteux
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
le corps peut confiner
substance de la lune
vous vous rappelez
je ne brûle aucun encens
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire

 



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