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prose poetry

je sais pas où
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
faible-envolée est la chanson
comment sauvage, comment sorcière-comme étrange qui la vie devrait être
vécu à côté de la rive
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
ne soyez pas faux
avec le coucher du soleil
mais alas, rêves justes
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline

 



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