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type of poetry

ich sterbe
Sie sind frei
wenn ich gekonnt hatte, Enge ein Gefängnis Liebe ist
in ihren zackigen regimentals
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus
herauf von den Süden am Bruch des Tages
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind

 



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