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epic poetry

niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
tat Sie hören überhaupt
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
blau-schwarze nubian zupfende Orangen
lassen Sie nicht hören
oben auslösen, unten fallend
ich stand
aus mir heraus unwürdig und unbekannt
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
eine Meile nach
im September

 



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