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contemporary poetry

la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
allé avant nous
je dois dire bonne nuit
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
dans le port de New York
près d'un champ en détresse
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
clair de lune profond et tendre
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre

 



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