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cowboy poetry

je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
elle était une beauté en jours
je sais ce que vous allez dire
s'il
près d'un champ en détresse
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
le maître des destins humains suis moi
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage

 



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