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funny poem

basculé dans le berceau du profond
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
les voûtes du pont rouge
j'ai jeté mon âme à l'air comme un vol de faucon
leurs beaux cheveux
améliorez que le granit
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
je meurs

 



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