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sympathy poem

behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
allé avant nous
qui appellera le vent
dites-moi
nous nous étendons
sous la barre du guerrier
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
je meurs
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies

 



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