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grandma poem

ich bin fevered
desolate und einsam
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin
er warfen einen Stein, Sie warfen einen Stein
und mit dem Summenvogel
vor er war viele und viel einem Jahr
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
noch dreizehn Jahre
ich bin in der Liebe mit hohen far-seeing Plätzen
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
Sturm

 



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