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death poem

quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
volonté vous miroitez sur la mer?
dans ma main je me tiens
roses et or

 



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