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thanksgiving poem

j'ai dit
je vais ma manière complacently
ils me demandent où j'ai été
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
deux rangées des choux
hauts murs et énorme
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
je dois dire bonne nuit
à minuit
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes

 



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