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suicide poetry

Blüten der Babys
glooms der Lebeneichen
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
Töchter der Zeit
ein mit Ihnen
ein Blick ist aber ein Strahl
Schatten legen entlang broadway
die alten Songs
mit den meek, braunen Augen
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
wie wild, wie Hexe-wie sonderbares, das das Leben sein sollte
lassen Sie mich traurig sein
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling

 



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