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autumn poem

kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
Glasbläser der Zeit
aller Tag zum Aufpassen der blauen Welle sich zu kräuseln und zu brechen
warum dann, Muß wir? sieht
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
diese Herzen wurden von den menschlichen Freuden und Obacht gesponnen
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
Schatten legen entlang broadway
ich habe eine Furcht in meinem Leben gehabt

 



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