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religious poem

Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
aber ich kann nicht Sie jetzt lesen
ich habe die Welt geworfen
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
ich sagte, ich habe geschlossen mein Herz
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
die alten Songs
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum

 



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