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sympathy poem

behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
gegangen vor uns
wer den Wind nennen wird
erklären Sie mir
wir legen
unter dem Helm des Warriors
ich sah die archangels in meinem Apfel-Baum gestern Abend
ich sterbe
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so


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