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cowboy poetry

monde qui change sous ma main
tous apaisent le long du potomac
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
en septembre
la lumière retirée
souvent je pense à la belle ville
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
peu de porte a été atteinte enfin
leurs beaux cheveux
l'aube était vert pomme
sommeil, frère gris de la mort

 



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