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poetry poem

Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
gestiegen von den Toten
auf und an
Schatten legen entlang broadway
warum dann, Muß wir? sieht
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
seien Sie nicht mit mir verärgert
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
burly, DösenHumblebiene
vor drei Jahren heute
ich singe Ihnen
ich bin in das Ödland gekommen, weil meine Seele athirst ist

 



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