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math poem

entlang den Bänken
die Masse hält etwas Erschütterungsgehen
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
liebe Frau
sie in der Schwärzungsversammlung und bitten
die Schatten der Schiffe
er wird gegangen
ich bete nicht für Frieden
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
tat Sie sehen überhaupt ein Krokodil
voll von den Rissen

 



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