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funeral poem

alle werfen die Jahre nieder
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
nehmen Sie meine Bracelets
mit den meek, braunen Augen
mit Lippenblut Rot und Herz des Steins
warum
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
schreckliche Wahrheiten diese sind
häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched

 



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