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prose poetry

für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
was ich Ihnen verdanken
es war der Herbst des Jahres
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
und mein Name ist truthful
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
wie ich innen roofed liege, innen aussortiert
von Song und Traum für überhaupt gegangen

 



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