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sex poem

was es die gesagten Maschinen war
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
sehen Sie das vorläufige
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den Fluß
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
für dann außen
innerhalb dieses niedrigen Grabs liegt ein conqueror
lassen Sie uns errichten

 



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