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mom poem

dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
donc je ne puis pas
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
complètement des larmes
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
laissez-moi être triste
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
levé des morts
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
deux rangées des choux

 



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