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type of poetry

ville qui n'est pas une ville
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
course haut-soutenue
je suis vieux et aveugle
je suis une femme
je me tiens par temps gris froid
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
maintenant que je me suis refroidi à vous
vieux vin à boire
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
du plancher au plafond
pas du monde large de totalité
il est venu me prendre par la main
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté

 



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