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epic poetry

je descends les chemins de jardin
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
éliminer, luttant vainly
ainsi tombé
souffleur de verre de temps
en matins nuage-gris
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
un mot de vol d'ici et là
à minuit
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
le plus triste de l'année
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi

 



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