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suicide poetry

über den Dachspitzen laufen Sie die Schatten der Wolken
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
hoch-getragenes Rennen
wir waren nicht viele
eine Meile nach
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
Gedanken durch meinen Kopf
Sie sind frei
liebe Frau

 



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