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death poem

simplicité
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
c'était l'automne de l'année
je meurs
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
et comment avez osé vous rêve de la réunion
donc je ne puis pas
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
je ne brûle aucun encens
s'il
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
l'air est comme un papillon

 



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