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halloween poem

ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
es gibt drei Möglichkeiten, in denen Männer nehmen
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen
um Mitternacht
Blüten der Babys
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
alter Wein zum Trinken
einfach sprechend
nicht von der breiten Welt des Ganzen
ich fülle diese Schale
die Masse hält etwas Erschütterungsgehen

 



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