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spanish poem

pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
peu de parc que je traverse
simplicité
ne restez pas plus
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
je réside à la montagne de table
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
dans le port de New York

 



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