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black poetry

dans des nombres mournful
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
les poèts le disent
une brume entraînait une réduction
j'ai eu une crainte dans ma vie
deux rangées des choux
vous êtes beau et fané
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette

 



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