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concrete poetry

ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
die Schwärzung
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
die kleinen weißen Gebete
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
umsponnen und gesponnen
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm

 



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