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thanksgiving poem

il est venu me prendre par la main
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
je meurs
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
regarder lĂ -bas
je sais ce que vous allez dire
je ne brûle aucun encens
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
volonté vous miroitez sur la mer?
du plancher au plafond

 



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