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spanish poem

pensées par ma tête
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
peu de parc que je traverse
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
une fois ce gazon mou
dans la sphère
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit

 



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