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black poetry

il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
doucement pleurant
vous dites que vous m'aimez
allé avant nous
j'ai vu avec les yeux ouverts
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
par le pont grossier
les poèts le disent
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
je suis fevered
fleurs des bébés
je vais ma manière complacently
voyez, de cette contrefaçon de lui

 



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