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death poetry

wenig Park, den ich durch führe
süsses splendor
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
im Bereich
so gefallen
verbessern Sie als Granit
lassen Sie uns unsere niedrigeren Neigungen ausdrücken
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
Glück
sie kennt eine preiswerte Freigabe
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
ich singe Ihnen
gibt es jedes dort

 



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