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modern poetry

ein Fliegenwort von hier und dort
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
sie sprengte fierce Wein
er warfen einen Stein, Sie warfen einen Stein
unter dem Helm des Warriors
die kleinen weißen Gebete
gestiegen von den Toten
um Mitternacht
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
Sie sind schön und verblassen
schauen Sie heraus nach den Sternen, meine Liebe
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
ich habe das Rennen gewonnen

 



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