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son poem

folglich kann ich nicht
dieses ist das Arsenal
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
Tag ist erfolgt
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
unter dem Helm des Warriors
geheimnisvolle Nacht
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
die Sonne ist oben
über dem Fluß winken sie zu mir zu
ich bildete ein Versprechen einmal, eins nur

 



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