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gothic poetry

tristement parlant
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
ils dans le rassemblement d'obscurité et demandent
monde qui change sous ma main
un, comme part d'un arbre
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
je meurs
simplicité
travails de la terre
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
je me suis tenu
la nuit était noire et triste
le long des banques
il est allé

 



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