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suicide poetry

nous qui se sont tenus
les poèts le disent
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
un dieu
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
maintenant que je me suis refroidi à vous
pourquoi
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
un mot de vol d'ici et là
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse

 



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