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concrete poetry

drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
nicht von der breiten Welt des Ganzen
in ihren zackigen regimentals
ein Leben auf der Ozeanwelle
erklären Sie mir nicht
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist

 



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