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sad death poem

das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
einfach sprechend
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
die Masse hält etwas Erschütterungsgehen
ich hatte einen Traum und ich wachte mit ihm auf
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
meine zutreffende Liebe von ihrem Kissen stieg
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
das traurigste des Jahres
warum dann, Muß wir? sieht

 



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