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broken heart poem

wenig Park, den ich durch führe
hören Sie den Regen?
Gott
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
er warfen einen Stein, Sie warfen einen Stein
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
verbessern Sie als Granit
die Wiese kroch

 



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