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break up poem

souvent je pense à la belle ville
là où je trouvez-vous
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
doux comme lit dans la terre
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
vous êtes beau et fané
elle a dit


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