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footprint poem

wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
herauf von den Süden am Bruch des Tages
unter dem Erntemond
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
er spricht nicht gut
süsses splendor
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin
mittlere Vergnügen und Paläste, obwohl wir durchstreifen können
Blüten der Babys
lassen Sie uns errichten
und wie Sie Traum der Sitzung konnten
gerade jetzt

 



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