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short love poem

diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
Kurzschluß und süsses und wir sind zum Ende von ihm gekommen
und mit dem Summenvogel
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
ein dünner grauer Schatten auf dem Rand des Gedankens
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
das Swanbestehen

 



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