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mother poem

c'est l'arsenal
un orage monte sur la marée
un oiseau a chanté
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
j'ai vu qu'un dieu vous doutent de lui?

 



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