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prose poetry

ich sah mit geöffneten Augen
ich brenne keinen Duft
wie ein blanker Mann ich gehen
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stĂĽrzen
sie muĂź zurĂĽck gehen, sagte sie
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying
an der Dämmerung sagte er
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiĂź
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschlieĂźenden Betts

 



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