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sad death poem

pour vêtir la pensée ardente
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
s'il
l'air est comme un papillon
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
je sais pas où
je tiens votre coeur
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre

 



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