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family poetry

mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
il était un jeune oysterman grand
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
une vie sur la vague d'océan
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
dans ma main je me tiens
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
le long d'une rive
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux


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