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black poetry

ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
für dann außen
eine Meile nach
ich stand
so gefallen
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
Melancholie, Blau war sie
das traurigste des Jahres
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
ich liebte eine Frau
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von


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