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narrative poetry

lassen Sie hören
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
die kleinen weißen Gebete
Gott
gute Frau
wenn ich gekonnt hatte, Enge ein Gefängnis Liebe ist
ich weiß nicht wo
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
verbessern Sie als Granit
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
ein Dichter, nachdem den Zaum seine Zunge entfernt habend

 



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