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free love poetry

neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
entlang den Bänken
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
der Himmel
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
die Bögen der roten Brücke
hören Sie den Regen?
desolate und einsam
der Schnee whispers über mich
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
ich habe die Welt geworfen
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken

 



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