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10 octobre 2009
Patric H. DERREZ, Ouvrage litteraire "Les oeuvres inachevées"
Dans une boite, au fond des ombres, il tourne. Tel un rouage, une mécanique bien huilée, il tourne. Entre mes reins, dans le creux de mes intestins, il tourne. Sans raison, il crie. Sans thème, il crie. Il vous appelle, venez à lui. Ecoutez les paroles...
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