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death poem

er spricht nicht gut
ich ging auf und ab die StraĂźen
ich liege am Tabellenberg
lassen Sie hören
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-FaĂźraum
wenn ich zurĂĽck zu Masse gehe
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude
ich sah die archangels in meinem Apfel-Baum gestern Abend
die Schwärzung

 



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