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short love poem

häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
die auf das Oberseite sagen, daß sie Sie, Masse kennen -- sie sind Lügner
seien Sie nicht falsch
erklären Sie mir weniger oder erklären Sie mir mehr
die kleinen weißen Gebete
das traurigste des Jahres
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich

 



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