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spanish poem

machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
stern kalter Mann
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
der Himmel
die hypocritic Tage
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
gebildet vom loveliness alleine
was wir jetzt tut
ich sagte
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
wie das Glätten fällt
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
grünes Nachmittagsserene und hell
was es die gesagten Maschinen war

 



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