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love poems

ich hatte den Fall über-vorbereitet
ich sagte
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
ich sah mit geöffneten Augen
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
hoch-getragenes Rennen
die kleinen weißen Gebete
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
zu einigem die fetten Götter
über ihnen alle, unten schauend

 



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