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fleurs des bébés
il était un jeune oysterman grand
si perdu
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
il parle pas bien
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
je me suis tenu
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
vécu à côté de la rive
tressé et tissé

 



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