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son poem

weich als das Bett in der Masse
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
holen Sie mir weichen Song
von FuĂźboden zu Decke
geben Sie mich
allein
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
ein Vogel sang
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude

 



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