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poetry in motion

oben auslösen, unten fallend
Bruder, bin ich Feuer
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
er würde sogar seinen Witz haben
ich bot sie aller Abschied
auf und ab geht ihn
unnachgiebige Vergangenheit des thou
und so geht sie
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
was es die gesagten Maschinen war


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