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christmas poems

ville qui n'est pas une ville
à minuit
je descends les chemins de jardin
gloom
j'ai dit
frère, je suis le feu
pourquoi
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
je me suis tenu
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
le pré rampait
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
il aurait même sa plaisanterie

 



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