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suicide poetry

mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
un, comme part d'un arbre
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
les poèts le disent
doux comme lit dans la terre
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
elle doit retourner, elle a dit

 



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