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poem for dad

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
ich sterbe
gebildet vom loveliness alleine
ich habe sie in der Nacht gehört
alter Wein zum Trinken
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe
Massentravails
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
dieses Jahr

 



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