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funny poetry

ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
je meurs
sous la barre du guerrier
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
nous avons aucune honte?
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent à moi
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
ville qui n'est pas une ville
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
elle était une beauté en jours
qui aime la pluie

 



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