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grandmother poem

ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiß
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
auf und ab geht ihn
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe
es gab ein strangeness auf Ihren Lippen
sie limps mit dem Anhalten des schmerzlichen Schrittes
Massentravails

 



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