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narrative poetry

Bonbon mit Farn und stieg
jetzt, während meine Lippen leben
in ihren zackigen regimentals
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
grünes Nachmittagsserene und hell
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
gegangen vor uns
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so

 



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