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prose poetry

pourrions nous mais savoir
qui appellera le vent
tous en baisse les années
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
bonne femme
ŕ l'aube, il a dit
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
et mon nom est véridique
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels

 



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