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autumn poetry

wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
von Fußboden zu Decke
ich bin in das Ödland gekommen, weil meine Seele athirst ist
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
ich bete nicht für Frieden
ich erwarte Sie
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
mit den meek, braunen Augen
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
gerade jetzt

 



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