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thanksgiving poetry

zu einigem die fetten Götter
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
lassen Sie mich traurig sein
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
wenn der Schleier von den Augen angehoben wird
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen
ich erwarte Sie
lassen Sie uns errichten
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister

 



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