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math poem

en septembre
souffleur de verre de temps
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
je vous attends
vous avez marche vue par le village
j'ai fait un voeu par le passé, un seulement
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
la lumière retirée
dans le port de New York
foncé-eyed

 



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