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thanksgiving poetry

seien Sie nicht mit mir verärgert
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
allein
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
wir waren nicht viele
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist

 



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