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death poetry

la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez ŕ moi, appel ŕ moi
écoutez la mer retentissante
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
je réside ŕ la montagne de table
passé persistant de thou
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
le ciel
souffleur de verre de temps
complčtement des larmes
soudainement, hors des maničres foncées et feuillues
un, comme part d'un arbre

 



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