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prose poetry

der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
als ich war, lief London ein
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
die Luft ist von Dämmerung und Frühling voll
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
Schatten legen entlang broadway
Tag ist erfolgt
hören Sie
von unseren versteckten Plätzen
einfach sprechend
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen SchlĂĽsseln

 



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