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lost love poem

hoch-getragenes Rennen
alle innen und alle ohne mich
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
liebe Frau
ich singe Ihnen
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch

 



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