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sympathy poem

behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
allé avant nous
qui appellera le vent
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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