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footprint poem

à minuit
treize ans toujours
je meurs
le régal royal a été fait
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
seule
les poèts le disent
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
dans la terre silencieuse
dans la sphère
je dois dire bonne nuit

 



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