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type of poetry

mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
ne soyez pas faux
ce qui nous fera maintenant
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
glooms des vivre-chęnes
remuez
treize ans toujours
je suis fevered
je verrai une étoile ce soir
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
bonne femme
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
de nos endroits cachés
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?

 



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