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poem for dad

er war ein hohes junges oysterman
hoch-getragenes Rennen
von Fußboden zu Decke
Sie sind schön und verblassen
erklären Sie mir weniger oder erklären Sie mir mehr
ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
von unseren versteckten Plätzen

 



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