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poem for pastors

j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
fleurs des bébés
ne tournez pas votre tête
à minuit
sous la barre du guerrier
je l'aime
et mon nom est véridique
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
levé des morts
je vais ma manière complacently
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
les voûtes du pont rouge
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
stand ici par mon côté

 



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