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suicide poetry

holen Sie mir weichen Song
wer den Regen liebt
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
eins nach dem anderen wie verläßt von einem Baum
ich habe die stolzesten Sterne gesehen
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt

 



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