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epic poetry

der Körper kann begrenzen
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
im Hafen neuen Yorks
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
Melancholie, Blau war sie
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
haben wir keine Schande?
erklären Sie mir nicht
erinnern sich Sie
seien Sie nicht mit mir verärgert
auf und an
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln

 



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