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poetry in motion

par le pont grossier
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
orage
pharaoh, roi de la terre de l'Egypte
homme froid sévère
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
souvent je pense à la belle ville
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un

 



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