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black poetry

peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
pour puis en dehors
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
regarder là-bas
y a il quiconque là
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
ombres à ailes balayant près
pour moi étais un conseiller décharné et grave
qui appellera le vent
j'ai vu la première poire

 



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