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prose poetry

meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
er wird gegangen
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
wer der Läufer in den Himmeln ist
welches hält
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
hören Sie
als ich ein Junge an der Hochschule war

 



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