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sister poem

Blüten der Babys
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
geben Sie mich
lieben Sie mich schließlich oder, wenn Sie nicht werden
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern


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