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concrete poetry

ich sterbe
die hypocritic Tage
ich singe Ihnen
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
plötzlich aus den dunklen und belaubten Weisen heraus
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
die Schwärzung
obwohl Lieberepine und Grundscheuern
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
gibt es jedes dort
ich habe die stolzesten Sterne gesehen
eine Feder des Stahls

 



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