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lyric poetry

er spricht nicht gut
lassen Sie uns errichten
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
als es
lassen Sie hören
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ändert
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
vor drei Jahren heute
ich sterbe
zweifellos erinnere mich ich noch
verbessern Sie als Granit

 



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