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type of poem

ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
wir, die standen
tat Sie sehen überhaupt ein Krokodil
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten

 



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