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gothic poetry

machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
die Dichter sagen
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
sehr gut Sie Liberale
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe
welches hält
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
tat Sie hören überhaupt
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
der Himmel
gelebt durch den River-side
dieses ist das Arsenal
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben

 



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