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meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
ein Dichter, nachdem den Zaum seine Zunge entfernt habend
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
warum dann, Muß wir? sieht
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
ich mag es
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
möglicherweise
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen

 



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