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suicide poetry

Kurzschluß und süsses und wir sind zum Ende von ihm gekommen
Tag ist erfolgt
so verloren
entlang den Bänken
wer den Wind nennen wird
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
weich als das Bett in der Masse
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
ich singe Ihnen
weich weinend
ich fülle diese Schale

 



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