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teen poem

wir, die standen
ich sah die archangels in meinem Apfel-Baum gestern Abend
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
wenn Sie heute abend kommen
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
in den mournful Zahlen
hören Sie


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