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fall poem

wölbte die Flut
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
gelebt durch den River-side
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
einfach sprechend
blau-schwarze nubian zupfende Orangen
mit den meek, braunen Augen
meine ganze Liebe für meinen Bonbon
von Song und Traum für überhaupt gegangen
Glück
Gedanken durch meinen Kopf
ich weiß nicht wo
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern

 



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