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retirement poem

gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
je meurs
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
comme bougie blanche
vous entendez la pluie?
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies

 



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