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lyric poetry

die Schwärzung
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
ein Blick ist aber ein Strahl
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
rühren Sie sich
die hypocritic Tage
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
weich weinend
steigender Mond hat die Sterne versteckt

 



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