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short poem

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
la lumière retirée
pourquoi
elle connaît un dégagement bon marché
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
écoutez la mer retentissante
beau
n'accrochez aucune guirlande

 



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