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short poem

souffleur de verre de temps
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
la lumière retirée
une fois ce gazon mou
doucement pleurant
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
dans des nombres mournful
je suis vieux et aveugle
et ainsi elle va
deux rangées des choux
dans votre vol
un avec vous

 



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